


the exorcism and accidental haunting of anthony j crowley

by dykeula



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 'Don't you ever come near me or my bastard demon ever again' - az, Aziraphale is switzerland, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Blood and Gore, Crowley Gets Hurt A lot, Crowley is a dick to teenagers, Crowly is Just Straight Up Not Having A Good Time Bro, Exorcisms, Found Footage, Haunting, Horror, Horror Comedy, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Just a whole lot of hurtin' and protectin', Light Bondage, Light Torture, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Teenagers, Teenagers are also dicks to Crowley, The rumor come out: Does Crowley Is Gay?, they take turns being hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-13 14:56:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19253473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeula/pseuds/dykeula
Summary: After the popularity of home made, found footage horror movies brought on by the Blair Witch Project, a couple teenagers try their hands on a DIY exorcism in an abandoned apartment complex. Crowley is not amused. Neither are the ghosts haunting the apartment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm neither a native speaker nor do I know shit about fuck (or about screenplays).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is a victim of a homophobic hate crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I think there’s a rich ream of horror, from The Haunting of Hill House to Ghostwatch, that delves into the idea that certain places can simply go wrong – and once these bad environments have been established and ostracised by society, they can’t be exorcised. They simply keep accruing power through the individual stories that play tragically out in their shadow.
> 
> “I mention a real-life example of that kind of bad architecture in one episode; the Pope Lick Bridge in Kentucky, a place that looks and feels so sinister that it developed its own local folklore about a goat-man who attacks people who stray too close to the edge – and which has ended up resulting in deaths as visitors peer over the side trying to get a peek at the monster.
> 
> “I find this kind of stuff fascinating, because it plays into my own paranoia about environments, and my dislike of ghost stories with explicably human antagonists. Like David says in the first episode, people aren’t frightening. Places are frightening.
> 
> “If I’m sitting alone at home on a dark and stormy night, and I glance nervously up towards the bedroom doorway, my fear is not that my house is being haunted by a spirit called Mabel who died in the 19th century at the age of fourteen and is constantly seeking her favourite teddy bear… because all of these details both humanise her and make her ridiculous.
> 
> “My fear is that there will be something standing in the doorway, because the doorway is where things come to stand.
> 
> “Because unoccupied spaces, in our imaginations, must find something to fill them.”
> 
> — from “The Saturday Interview: ‘I Am in Eskew’ podcast”

**BLACK SCREEN.**

After a while, a **TEXT** appears on screen, reading:

THIS MOVIE WAS MADE BY THREE STUDENTS DURING AN EXCHANGE PROGRAM IN ENGLAND IN 2001. SINCE SHOOTING THIS FILM, THEY HAVEN‘T BEEN SEEN SINCE. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION ABOUT THEIR WHEREABOUTS PLEASE CONTACT THE LONDON POLICE.

EVERYTHING YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE IS 100% REAL AND NOT STAGED. 100%. PREPARE YOURSELVES.

PLEASE DON‘T TRY EXORCISING A DEMON AT HOME, KIDS.

Cue ominous music. Fade to black...

 

A blurry image of a teenager‘s room appears. Grey wallpaper, various posters of classic horror movies plastered everywhere. The camera is positioned on the desk, showing a spinning chair. A **TEENAGER** moves into frame to sit on it. He‘s young, maybe 17, wearing a BLAIR WITCH PROJECT merch shirt. A text on the bottom right of the screen reads: **LEON** , EXORCISM EXPERT.

 **Leon, sighing dramatically multiple times:** Hi. I know what you‘re thinking. You‘re probably wondering, who the hell is this guy? Who I am‘s not important. It‘s only important _what_ I am, and what I can do.

Knocking on the door.

 **Leon, clearly annoyed:** I‘M FILMING, MOM! [muffled voice coming from the door.] NO, I- [he sighs] I don‘t want sushi... [more muffled talking.] Yeah, I know. Okay. Okay.

Leon starts moving towards the door, you can hear the unlocking and then shortly afterwards locking of a door. Seconds later, Leon appears back in frame, carrying a plate of vegetarian sushi. He puts it aside on his night stand and sits back down.

 **Leon, running a hand over his face:** Sorry. As I was _saying_ , I‘m pretty much a paranormal expert. I know. ‚An expert at this young of an age??‘ Well, yeah. My dad‘s a priest, and I may have stolen his exorcism notes for this. Sorry dad. I also stole your camera. Sorry for that too, except not really because _fuck you._ If you‘re watching this, that means this first draft made it into the film, which then means... [He pauses, conflicted] That I‘m dead. Or gone. Or missing. Or gone, missing, and dead. In which case... Mom, I love you. Dad, I hope you choke on a pubic hair in your soup and die a slow, painful death. I‘ve made precautions, in case I won‘t be... here to send this to any film executives. Hey, by the way, if you‘re one of those. I hope this documentary will be ... satisfactory to you. You know where to call me. [Silence.] ... Ok, umm, time to roll the clips?

Fade to black.

 

Three teenagers, standing in a circle, look to be in deep thought. The lights are barely enough to make out their shape. One of them is holding the camera. The bottom text reads: **LEON, ALEX** and **MIKE**. Leon is the one holding the camera.

 **Mike, nervously looking between his friends:** Are you sure this is a good idea? We could get arrested for this.

 **Leon, scoffing:** Don‘t be a pussy. We‘re gonna be _rich_ if we manage to pull this off. Fucking rolling in money. I‘m gonna buy my mom a _yacht,_ or something. Or a mansion. Or both. So _don‘t_ screw this up for us.

 **Alex, nodding:** Besides, our evidence is air tight. The whole thing with the old lady... The bad omens... And you‘ve seen the dude yourself, his _eyes?_ That shit ain‘t normal.

 **Leon:** You wanna explain that to our viewers, b- Alex?

 **Alex, blushing:** Should I? I mean, shouldn‘t you? Are you su- Okay. Kay. [He exhales and smiles at the camera] Hey, so I‘m Alex? We‘re students on exchange in Lo-

 **Leon:** No, they know.

 **Alex:** How?

 **Leon:** I‘m gonna put it on screen for them. Like they do in documentaries.

 **Alex, contemplating:** Oh... Well, we put in an ad in a local newspaper for people who were witnesses of something... supernatural. Strange stuff. Unexplained phenomena. The whole shebang. [He chuckles.] We got lots of bullshit, truth be told. Took me almost 2 whole weeks to ward through the trash. The stuff some people come up with, I mean, lizard people?? [He catches sight of Leon‘s expression off screen and then coughs.] Okay, moving on, there was one letter I actually found interesting. Or, Leon did, while we- We both found it pretty fucking cool. This old lady, right, she tells us that she lives next to a guy from the city. Bachelor, handsome ‚like the devil‘. Her words, not mine. Anthony something. According to her, she‘s witnessed quite a few strange going ons in that house, including uhh... [He pulls a wrinkled piece of paper from his back pocket, reading from it:] Satanic rituals, devil worship and uhh... What‘s Leviticus, 18.22 and 20.13? [The camera moves as Leon shrugs.] Okay, whatever the hell that means. Naturally, we were like, satanic rituals? Devil worship? Blasphemy? Gotta be a satanist, right? Or a metal fan. Either way, should probably check that out. So we did. We checked him out. [Alex winks into the camera.] We basically stalked his house like a creep for like 2 days, and we did watch a couple... suspicious instances, I mean, who keeps their sunglasses on _in doors?_ When we decided it was time to strike, we knocked on his door late at night... And when we saw his _eyes_ , well, you‘ll see for yourselves, won‘t you. It‘s freaky. Especially combined with the fact that he straight up _hissed_ at us when he saw my cross. [Alex shudders.] Hissing. Total creep.

 **Leon, sounding proud of himself:** What did we do then, Alex?

 **Alex:** Well, L- viewers, we uhh... Well...

 **Mike, holding a taser gun up to the camera:** We tasered him.

 **Alex, yelling excitedly:** We _tasered_ his demonic ass! [He coughs.] Dude went out like a light. Drove here, to the dorm- I mean, to our secret lair, chained him up real good to a bed in the small prayer room they‘ve got here. Don‘t worry, we have a camera on him at all times, in case he wakes up. If he wakes up and can explain to us why he has _snake eyes_ then we‘ll let him go. Maybe. If not, we...

 **Mike, deadpan:** Torture him.

 **Alex, shushing him:** No, you fucking weirdo. That‘s _bad_.

 **Mike:** Kidnapping him and chaining him up in an abandoned building isn‘t?

 **Leon, clearly annoyed:** Well, obviously if he‘s a demon he‘s got no fucking _rights_ , okay?! Not like he‘s a British citizen or sumthin‘. Or American. He‘s outta this world, and he‘s gotta go back to where he came back from. The _real_ Anthony‘s probably being possessed in his own body right about now, and it‘s our duty to help him. Who will if not us?

Both Mike and Alex look at the camera solemnly.

 

NEXT SCENE: A camera shot of an even worse quality, this time shot from the far right corner of a room. We‘re inside a dark, barren room with a couple chairs and an altar, along with a huge, grotesque depiction of Jesus dying on the cross. In the middle of the room is a shabby looking metal bed, and on top of that bed is an unconscious **FIGURE** , slowly waking up. His hands and feet are tied to the bed post, his body is stretched wide. The male has shoulder length hair and is wearing a what looks to be Bronski Beat shirt, along with a robe and dark, silk pyjamas.

From somewhere to his right, there‘s a noise, like a wet gurgling sound, barely noticeable. It wakes up the sleeping demon, and we can‘t clearly see his face, but he looks _pissed_ once he notices where he is.

 **Demon, hollering while looking around frantically:** HASTUR?? LIGUR?? ... G-guys, this isn‘t bloody funny... Alright, ya got me! Tada! Nice trick. Now _untie me_ , Satan damn it! [Silence answers him, except for the soft gurgling.] What the fuck is that, hello?? HellOOoO?? [He strains his neck, then abandons that to try to untie himself.] Oh, damn it. Fucking fuck. Fuck. Fucking.... heavens! ...... Aziraphale? Angel?

Footsteps can be heard approaching. The gurgling stops abruptly.

 **Demon:** Angel, if that‘s you, I swear I- I mean, I‘m kinda mad, yea, but listen, I‘ll get over it, okay? I‘ll deal, I‘ll be chill. [The rattling on his chains grows more frantic.] If this- if this is- this is pay back for that first copy edition of Goethe I drew, I doodled on, I‘m _sorry,_ okay? Truly, I am. Sorry. Won‘t happen again. It‘s just, you _know_ how I feel about the guy, and- [He looks at three figures standing in the doorway, currently out of frame.] Who the _fuck_ are you? Where‘s Aziraphale?

 **Alex, stepping into frame:** Who‘s Assi raffel?

 **Leon, gently touching Alex' shoulder while also walking up to him:** Who the _fuck_ we are, demon, is your _worst. enemy._

 **Demon, contemplating:** ... Gabriel? Michael? [He laughs.] Lookin‘ a little, uhh... Bill & Ted there, pals.

 **Leon:** Who- ... Never mind. [He steps closer towards the bed, holding up the infamous taser gun.] We‘re here to send you back home from whence you came. We‘re exorcists, bitch!

 **Demon, looking offended:** My my my, _language,_ children! We‘re in a house of god. She has a thing or two to say about sexist slurs, ya know. [He grins, clearly impressed with himself, and lies back down as gracefully as he can. He tries to intertwine his legs but is rudely stopped by the chains.] How old are you, anyway? 12? [He laughs.]

 **Leon, growing more and more agitated:** Shut up!

 **Demon, laughing:** I‘m sorry, it‘s- it‘s just [He laughs harder.] You? _Exorcists_? A little young for college, eh, lads? [After seeing Leon‘s red facial expression, he keeps on laughing.] Do your parents know you‘re here? Does your daddy- [Leon lashes out with the gun, its two electrifying magnets lashing onto the Demon‘s clothed stomach. He screams and starts thrashing on the bed.] AHHH, RNNNNGGGGG!...

Right in the middle of the screen, a **TEXT** appears, spelling out: NO ACTUAL HUMANS WERE HARMED DURING THE MAKING OF THIS SCENE. PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TASER SOMEONE AT HOME. NOT EVEN A DEMON. ESPECIALLY NOT A DEMON.

 **Demon, spitting out what looks to be droplets of blood:** RRRnnN FFF-FF-FF _FUCK_! WAS _THAT_! FOR!

Alex on the side looks to be conflicted. Concerned, he walks up to the still panicking Leon and gently starts rubbing his back. He whispers something into his ear that is unintelligible to the viewer, which causes Leon to storm off out of the room. Alex exchanges a look with his other teammate. Mike, who has been eyeing the scene in front of him with interest, starts speaking up.

 **Mike, still deadpan:** We don‘t like smart asses.

 **Demon, coughing painfully:** Evidently. What‘s to say that I _am_ a demon, though? What concrete facts you got, huh? What if I‘m the most human you‘ve ever laid your adolescent, eyelinered eyes upon? Huh?? What if I‘m an _accountant?_

Mike whispers something. Alex steps up to the prisoner, holding a plastic bottle filled with water. He brings it up to the demon‘s lips, who drinks it up with initial halfhearted protest.

 **Alex, taking back the bottle:** What normal, sane person responds to being kidnapped and tied up like you just did?

 **Demon:** Normal-? [He starts laughing again, and then presumably chokes on water.] Ouch. Remind me to never introduce you to the SoHo BDSM scene. [He grins maniacally, showcasing his sharp teeth.]

 **Alex, disgusted:** Eww. Not cool, dude.

Fade to black.

 

NEXT SCENE: A still visibly shaken Leon is standing in the room of operations, the camera sitting on a desk. He keeps anxiously sweeping his hand over his face, puffing in and out frantically. Behind him, you can hear a figure creaking into the room, though the camera isn‘t able to really pick out any details. As it steps closer, it looks to be a man, covered in dirt and grease, wearing an old suit with holes in it. His matted hair is hanging partly over his face, but from what you can see the skin tissue underneath seems to be _rotten_ and _charred._ Without moving any other part of his body, the man moves his outstretched hand onto Leon‘s shoulders. It is clear that he doesn‘t own all of his fingers anymore.

 **Leon, sighing:** Yeah, I- I know... I know what, what you‘re gonna say... [Silence from the corpse. The hand starts moving slightly downwards.] I shouldn‘t have snapped like that... I... It won‘t happen again.

 **Alex, off camera at the door:** You‘re damn right it won‘t.

Leon goes wide eyed, jumps and turns towards the noise. The corpse is no longer there, having disappeared after presumably being interrupted. Leon looks at Alex, then at his shoulder, then back at Alex.

 **Leon:** Were you- were you standing here just now? [Alex walks up to him, looking confused. He tries touching his hand but is shaken off.] Don‘t _fuck_ with me, were you. Or were you not. Just now rubbing my shoulder?

 **Alex:** No...? Must‘ve been the wind, it‘s pretty chilly in here.

 **Leon, shaking his head frantically:** No, no, you don‘t think I know what the fucking _wind_ feels like on my shoulder, you think- [He stops as Alex starts cupping his face in his palms. The camera is no longer focused on his face, but his shoulders start relaxing gradually.]

 **Alex, calmly but surely:** Hey, look at me. Snap out of it. You‘re okay. We‘re okay. The demon‘s _definitely_ okay.

 **Leon, nodding repeatedly:** I‘m- I‘m okay. W-We‘re okay. [He exhales.] Thanks... [He puts his own hand over Alex‘, slowly leaning his head forward, closer and closer, until...]

 **Alex, pulling back:** No PDA, remember? [He smiles, stops the hand holding but not before reassuringly squeezing Leon‘s fingers once.] Your rules.

Leon, huffs, trying to pull him back in with a vice grip on his hips. He whispers something unintelligible, ends up kissing the air as Alex removes himself from the situation entirely.

 **Alex, clearly teasing:** Hey, don‘t look at me like that, you were the one who said it. ‚Everyone in Hollywood is a homophobic old fuck, who hates gay people‘, remember? [His tone starts growing more mocking.] ‚Gay characters always either die or are evil‘. ‚We‘re never gonna get our movie deal if we have gays on screen‘. So, for the next few hours I‘ll be the straightest dude you‘ve ever seen! Hell, I'll even be sexist! And no cuts! You said this would be authentic film making! [He ruffles Leon‘s hair as they start moving backwards out of the door, smiling.] Just following your orders, director.

 **Leon, turning back towards the camera once Alex is out of the room:** Note to future self: [over the top mouthing of _DELETE THIS_ ]

Fade to black.

 

NEXT SCENE: Back in their make shift prison, the demonic prisoner looks annoyed. Mike has started recording with the better camera, so we‘re really able to clearly see his bored expression. He softly whistles the first chorus of Queen‘s _Bohemian Rhapsody._

Everyone turns their attention towards Leon and Alex, who have just appeared behind them. The camera man shakily waves from them back to the prisoner.

 **Demon, smiling warmly:** Ahh, I see we‘ve all had a moment to clear our heads, have we now? That‘s good. Think we can finally talk like professionals now, like adults?

 **Leon, looking ashamed:** Yes...

 **Demon, doing an obnoxious mouth pop:** Yes? [He tries clapping his hands but fails due to the restraints, clearly annoyed but trying not to show it.] EXXXcellent. Now, good people, oh frightful Inquisitors, bane of my existence, you wouldn‘t terribly mind telling me who sent you, would you? [He is clearly going for friendly banter here, but fails due to the strain and barely constrained panic in his voice.]

 **Alex, confused:** Who ... sent us? We drove out here on our own.

 **Demon, rolling his eyes:** Yes, I know. I noticed. Almost threw up from all the bumps and halting along the road. Shame that anyone can get a driver‘s license these days. _No,_ what I _mean_ is who gave you the mission? Huh? Upstairs or downstairs?? [He looks separately at the three of them.] Heaven or hell? Top or bottom bunk?? Come _on_! [He whines, dramatically.] Tell meeeee.

 **Leon, squinting his eyes:** Are you high?

 **Alex, rolling his eyes:** Anybody ever tell you that you‘re really dramatic?

 **Demon, laughing loudly:** Hah! Yes, actually. Many, many times. But then again, people who tell me that also generally tend to _not_ taser, kidnap, torture-drive, tie up and then taser me again for no apparent reason, hmm? Pot. Meet kettle.

 **Leon:** No apparent _reason_? [He scoffs, putting a hand inside Alex‘ back pocket, who blushes, and dramatically holds up the piece of paper the neighbour gave them.] What about _this?_

 **Demon, rolling his eyes:** What about it? If you think I‘ve got laser vision and can read a folded paper all the way from up here, sorry to disappoint. Probably need an angel for that one.

 **Leon:** One of your neighbours sent us this, done with your schemes! [He starts reading from the list:] Satanic rituals, devil worship...

 **Demon, loudly interrupting:** Which neighbour? Listen, first rule of demon club, you don‘t _shit_ where you _eat._ Why would I do my devilish deeds at my home, with my curtains wide open? Huh? [He squints, trying to make out the hand writing on the paper, straining his neck.] Which neighbour?

 **Alex, resolutely:** We can‘t tell you.

 **Demon, groaning dramatically:** Tsk. Fine. What else they say about me, huh? Only bad stuff, I hope?

 **Leon, nervously reciting:** Uhhh... Leviticus, 18.22 and 20.13?

 **Demon, clearly confused:** Levi- Leviticus? Wha- ... [Gears are visibly turning in his brain. After another minute of mumbling and guessing, he finally places the Bible verses and quirks up.] Hey! [He tries to jump up, hurting himself and further chaffing open the wounds on his wrists.] Ouch. Hey, Miss Pennyhurst, that you? Dolores? Older lady, has that god awful old fashioned perm and a bunch of cats? Hoards floral prints? _That_ Misses P.?

 **The three exorcists, found out:**..........

 **Demon, after noticing their hesitation, starts crying out:** Oww, Dolly, how you wound me! You, of all people! [He fake sniffles.] I helped her with her petunias once, can you believe it? Always waved, always said hello. [He sighs, defeated.] Betrayed, by my most trusted friend. Now I know what Caesar must have felt like when I, you know. Stabbed him in the back. Or, well, tasered, in this case.

 **Leon:** .......... Yeaaaah, I‘m just gonna pretend like I have any fucking clue what you‘re talking about......

 **Alex, next to the camera, whispering to Leon:** Are you sure he‘s not high?

 **Demon, wheezing:** Hah, I wish! Although, Leviticus? [He starts perfectly reciting the bible verses without further thought:] ‚Thou shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination‘ ? ‚If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.‘ That‘s a little... harsh, don‘t you reckon? I don‘t remember any such activities.... [He opens his eyes comically wide, blinking rapidly.] Wait. _Waaaait_ just a minute. Back the bloody hell up. [He looks up at the sky.] Dolly, really? You see me, you see me and a handsome _angel_ having a few lunches and fine, a tad bit of red wine, and you assume the worst of me? Which would be fine really, assuming the worst of me is generally a-okay, but _Leviticus?_ [He looks at the teenagers, clearly offended.] Dear ol‘ granny just called me _homosexual_! Can ya believe it?

 **Alex, horrified:** Wait, _what_?

 **Demon, nodding:** Yep, an honest demon these days can‘t even keep in touch with old friends without being persecuted by a bunch of old, wrinkly homophones. Pardon, homophobes. Wow! Just wow! Homophobic exorcists, and that in the 21st century, that! [He whistles.]

 **Leon:** Wait, back the fuck up, _we‘re_ not homophobic? Okay?? We‘re actually the complete opposite of that, we‘re- [He exchanges a panicked look with Alex, who shakes his head lightly.] _Allies._ We‘re allies. We.... love the gays.

Off camera, you can clearly hear an annoyed and bored Mike, blowing out air. The hand holding the camera starts shaking slightly due to its weight.

 **Mike:** Guys, can we please get going-

 **Demon, interrupting yet again:** Trying to exorcise a gay demon isn‘t really ally behavior, don‘t you reckon? [He looks even more offended.] Not to mention, Aziraphale is my _friend_ , he would never- I mean, angels are _asexual beings_! Or are they. No, can‘t be. Or can it. [His speech pattern starts going increasingly faster and more incoherent.] Would he? Do you think I should ask him? I mean, no of course not, that‘d be ridiculous. Totally obscure. Or would it. Yes. But, on the other hand... [He starts violently shaking his head to chase the thought away. It‘s clear the idea lingers on, though.] Anyways, onto more pressing matters: I can‘t believe that, in the year of our lord and savior two thousand and one, I am being the victim of a homophobic hate crime!

 **Alex & Leon in unison: **You‘re not!

 **Demon, jiggling with his chains to demonstrate his point:** Am too, see? I‘m clearly the victim here.

 **Alex, stuttering:** No, you- We-

Mike aggressively throws the camera on the table. As it rattles back in frame, we can see a few moving shadows hurriedly scurrying away from the light. No one, in their homophobia driven frenzy, has noticed.

 **Mike, yelling:** CAN WE PLEASE GET BACK ON POINT HERE? [Deafening silence.] Fuck‘s sake. You two [He points at a stammering Alex & Leon.] come with me. _You_ [Obviously meaning the demon.] Stay.

The imprisoned demon starts pouting from his place on the bed. The three exorcists hurriedly leave the room and close the door on the way out. It doesn‘t help to muffle out the screams. In the far right of the room, a shadow start materializing again, almost in the shape of a person but not quite. The only thing clearly visible is the mouth. A small mouth with sharp, yellow teeth. _„I want to go home,“_ a small voice whispers.

 **Demon:** Huh? Me too, sister. Join the club.

Fade to black

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley: Aziraphale, can you come pick me up? I'm scared.  
> TW: torture? If you watched the exorcist you know what's up.

NEXT SCENE: Back in the room of operations. Mike has been evidently yelling at Alex and Leon for quite some time. By now the screaming has gone down to a minimum. Everyone has calmed down. Leon looks guilty for causing a scene. Again.

 **Mike, huffing out air:** Okay, while y‘all were busy talking about politics, did you happen to notice that he actually called _himself_ a demon? [Silence, though both seem to start to remember.] _Yeah._ We‘re dealing with an actual, full out demon here. In the flesh.

 **Leon, back to being professional:** Actually, in the flesh of a human being possessed by one.

 **Mike, giving him the side eye:** What I meant by that was, we got our proof. He confessed. Now what do we do?

 **Leon, looking directly into the camera:** We make the demon tell us its name. Through its name, we hold power over it. Then we take one of my dad‘s bible citations and banish it out of this realm.

 **Alex, clearly uncomfortable and feeling out of his depth:** ... Yeah. What he said.

 **Mike, clapping his hands together:** Right! We got this, crew! Now, Alex, you stay here.

 **Alex, relieved:** Oh, thank god.

 **Leon, horrified:** What why?

 **Mike:** Because he‘s your weak spot and y‘all can‘t do your lovey dovey gay shit while dealing with Satan‘s powers. We need your at your best. [He looks to Alex apologetically.] No offense.

 **Alex, shrugging:** None taken. Should I... record some stuff?

 **Leon:** Uhhh.... [He starts ruffling through his backpack, taking out a pen and paper.] Maybe... think of cool titles for the movie? Like... The Demon Project? [All three of them wince at the cringiness of that name.] You‘ll think of something. [To Mike:] Grab the holy water.

 **Alex, grinning and saluting the two with the pen in hand:** Got it, chief.

Fade to black.

 

NEXT SCENE: We‘re back in the church room. There‘s the gurgling sound again, this time it‘s grown louder. The demon doesn‘t seem to be noticing, he‘s currently lying in bed with his eyes closed, concentrating intensely.

 **Demon:** Alright, here goes. Can‘t really intertwine my hands like this, but... [He sighs.] Aziraphale? Angel? Can you hear me? Satan, I sure hope that‘s you listening in, otherwise this is gonna be awkward. [He furrows his brow, biting his lip. A shadowy figure perched on top of the altar, all teeth and white eyes, is watching him intensely.] You know how much I hate this whole, uhh... praying business. Despise it, really. But I don‘t know how else to reach you, a little tied up at the moment, and I... I‘m desperate. [His voice raises a couple octaves, he is clearly upset.] I got _tasered_ , Az. Electrocuted. Me. And they‘re not even professionals, Angel, they‘re the type of humans you adore so much! _Children_! I got kidnapped by amateur, mini humans! Bloody fantastic! [He puffs out air, trying to compose himself.] I know what you‘d say. I mustn‘t upset myself. Nerves. Well, I _am_ upset. Very. And... cold. And hungry. Missed lunch, I know, but I think you‘ll find that my reasons were adequate. I‘ll make it up to you.

He opens his eyes, longingly staring up at the ceiling. The shadow at the altar is now two shadowy phantoms, but the demon doesn‘t care. He looks at the ruined ceiling as if looking at the face of an old friend.

 **Demon, more serious this time:** Listen, the only reason I‘m doing this is because... Az, I don‘t want to interrupt any important business meetings or cause you grief, but they tied me up in a church, okay? They carved holding spells in these metal chains, Satan knows how, but... I just eavesdropped on them - _I know,_ but I think I‘m allowed, just a little - and they were mentioning holy water. [He laughs desperately.] Seems to me that I‘ll meet my demise here on this dirtied bed, blasted into oblivion by these teenager wannabe‘s. [He smiles.] Don‘t worry, though, I‘ve got this. You know I always weasel myself out of these situations. Like a snake. Or a roach. But if, if I - if we may not have the chance to meet again, then I ... [He opens and closes his mouth in the dark, searching for the words. There aren‘t any to adequately define 6000 years, are there?] Maybe you‘ll take someone else to the Ritz, eh? Either way, you‘ll get all my things, alright. Even the Queen albums. Especially those. ... Maybe we‘ll see each other in some other universe. Who knows. Until then... [The demon is clearly going for one approach, before swiftly remembering where he is, who he is and what he is about to say, before backpedaling.] Ummm... Bye. Yeah. Cheers. Amen.

At the altar, a dirtied long nail starts scratching away at the bloodied Jesus statue. _„GOD can‘t help you now,“_ it hisses.

 **Demon, rolling his eyes:** Oh, do shut up! I am having a moment here!

At this, both Mike and Leon open the entrance of the church. Spray bottles in hand, ready and loaded. The demon is staring at them in hatred.

 **Leon:**... Sorry to interrupt? But we‘ve come to the conclusion, that uhh, first of all, you‘re not gay.

 **Demon:** I could be.

 **Leon, annoyed:** You‘re not.

 **Demon, with a hint of sincerity:** Sometimes.

 **Leon, sighing:** SECOND, [They menacingly hold the spray bottles in the air in unison, inches from the demon‘s prison.] what‘s your name, demon?

 **Demon, tired:** No.

Leon decides to go for a little bit of foreplay, opening up a bag of table salt and resolutely walking up to the demon. He motions for his partner to hold the struggling demon down.

 **Demon:** Wait, what-

 **Leon:** What‘s your name.

 **Demon, grinning up at him:** Margret Thatcher. [A vice grip suddenly stops him from closing his mouth again as a whole lot of salt is poured straight down his throat. The demon starts screaming and thrashing, choking on the salt blocking his air. He might even have teared up a little, the camera isn‘t close enough to tell. After a minute of this screaming and pouring, the exorcists finally release him.] Wha-

The demon wheezes and coughs painfully, spit, salt and blood flying out of his mouth and onto his shirt. Leon doesn‘t look so good, white in the face, while Mike already moves in to get started again. The demon flinches away from him violently, involuntarily. The bravado facade is gone.

 **Demon, panicking:** No wait wait wait wAIT! [He tries breathing normally through his closed nose. Salt is everywhere, in every pore of his skin. Every cell of his body is searing with pain.] Dude, that isn‘t even truly effective, that shit just _hurts_!

 **Leon, conflicted:** Maybe we should-

 **Mike:** Tell us your name.

 **Demon, screaming out:** I‘m not even possessed, for fuck‘s sake! I‘m not! If you exorcise me, this body goes with it! I _am_ this body! You‘re not saving anyone, got it?

 **Mike, holding him down again:** So? Leon, say it.

 **Leon, looking at the pleading look in the demon‘s eyes:** Uhh, I don‘t think-

 **Mike:** SAY IT!

Leon is yelled into submission as he brings out his father‘s latin bible with shaky fingers and starts reading off of it, the very first psalm. The verses are barely audible underneath all that inhumane screaming and violent thrashing. The demon is human, then serpent, the human again, violently and involuntarily changing shape. It seems that even that hurts like hell.

It‘s only a few minutes, though, before the bible is thrown off screen across the room, landing somewhere with a loud thump.

 **Leon:** NO! You know what, I think my mom can live without a mansion or a yacht.

He goes to leave, but Mike is quicker. With inhumane speed and strength he pins him down, choking and squishing his throat as hard as possible. Behind them, the demon exhales in relief, barely reacting to what‘s going on before him. He‘s looking at the ceiling again, at that invisible face just out of reach.

Just as the grip threatens to shatter Leon‘s neck, Mike relents, nose bleeding. He staggers backwards and hits a chair with his knees, wobbling over. The demon is still wheeze-crying on the bed.

 **Mike, confused and dazed:** Wait, what...

Just off screen, right where the entrance should be, a sudden white light starts beaming and exploding out of thin air. It‘s all encompassing. It‘s ethereal. Ineffable. Everyone, human and phantom included, is cowering in fear. Everyone except the demon, laughing wetly.

 **Demon, crying out:** OH THANK _GOD!_

Fade to white.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has come to fetch his emotional support demonic bastard.

NEXT SCENE: The dash cam hasn‘t been faring well due to the fluorescent light, it‘s screen is cracked in half, glass shards falling onto the floor. The other camera, however, is slowly clawing its way back to life. So far, though, due to its position on the floor, only the cowering bodies of two humans are in view. And the pristine, white shoes of a **STRANGER** walking towards a bed post.

 **Stranger, gingerly avoiding the glass shards littered about:** Oh, gosh. Goodness gracious. What a mess. [He accidentally steps on a human‘s foot. He yelps.] Sorry! Apologies, I‘ll just, uhh... be out of your hair in a second.

There is slow movement coming from the bed. After the strangers remark, it starts growing louder.

 **Demon:** Az- Aziraphale? That you? [He exhales.] Please let it be you.

 **Aziraphale, a smile evident in his voice:** You missed lunch, Crowley. I had to sit there and bother the waitress all on my lonesome. [His feet have now reached the middle of the bed, presumably looking at the mess there.] I got your message. I‘m quite flattered to be prayed to specifically, you know... [He chuckles.] Quite.

The demon, **CROWLEY** , starts struggling harder. Neither of them have yet noticed the two humans crawling their way towards the holy water spray bottles.

 **Crowley, panicking:** Where are you? I can‘t see you!

 **Aziraphale, fondly:** You‘ve got blood in your eyes, dear. [He does something off camera, most likely snapping open the restraints on his friend. There‘s the sound of metal rattling repeatedly and then falling to the floor.]

 **Crowley, in pain:** Ahh... Ooff. Thanks... I owe you.

 **Aziraphale, patting his friend‘s shoulder:** No, you don‘t. French revolution, remember?

 **Crowley:** Ahh, right. Crêpes?

 **Aziraphale:** Crêpes.

Leon, who has by now reached their weapon of choice, and Mike, who for some reason has started picking up the camera & recording manually again, interrupt them. Leon staggers from side to side, obviously still injured.

 **Leon, whisper-shouting:** Alright, [He wheezes, coughs a couple times and then tries again:] Explain... yourselves...!

The blonde stranger, Aziraphale, instinctively starts shielding his injured friend with his suit covered body. Crowley, injured and full of salt, snot and blood, still wiping at his eyes, shoves him out of the way and does just the same to Aziraphale. From the side, it looks a little like a comical dance. The demon doesn't seem to grasp that he is currently the only one being even remotely threatened. After all, holy water can't hurt an angel. The movement seems to be purely instinct.

 **Aziraphale, eyeing the spray bottle in fright:** Now, now, there‘s no need-

 **Crowley, shoving Aziraphale out of the way of fire:** Put that bottle down, or so help me Satan...!

 **Aziraphale, coughing and pointedly giving Crowley the side eye:** You see, I was just about to rescue my hot headed friend here. I mean no harm. [Again looking at Crowley.] Neither does he.

 **Mike:** You killed our dash cam with your flashlight. [Pointing at Crowley:] _He_ 's a demon.

 **Aziraphale, wincing apologetically:** Yes, I‘m afraid that happens sometimes. I‘m... I mean, it‘s out of practice. Heh. As for my friend... [He chuckles nervously.] Who isn't a little demonic these days? [Crowley looks at him side ways, mouths _'Really?'_.]

Leon, still upset, starts pointing the bottle at the camera. Humans are immune against holy water, and yet Mike does an audible gasp. Leon‘s eyes are bloodshot, there are angry red marks wrapping around his neck like a scarf. The two celestial beings watch the drama unfold with interest.

 **Leon:** And _you-_ [Violent coughing again.] Don‘t think I forgot about you trying to _choke me to death_! What the hell were you _thinking_?!

 **Mike, panicked:** I- I wasn‘t! It wasn‘t me, honest! You- you know me, I w-wouldn‘t do that...! [Leon continues pointing the holy water at him, unconvinced.] Co-come on, I brought you your first beer! Stole your first beer. [He points at Leon‘s dirtied horror merch shirt.] I got you that for Christmas last year!

 **Leon, shaking his head:** Pff, you are _so_ on cutting room duty. [Clearing his throat, he looks around, realizing something.] Wait... [He suddenly runs out of the room, deadly weapon still in hand.] Be, be right back!

 **Crowley, suspicious:** Where‘s _he_ running off to?

The shoulders currently holding up the camera start shrugging.

 **Mike:** Probably looking for his boyfriend.

 **Aziraphale, smiling warmly:** Boyfriend? Aww, that‘s sweet.

 **Crowley, staring at him dramatically:** _Sweet?_ They tortured me!

 **Aziraphale:** Still.

Crowley scoffs dramatically, wants to say something, probably to bitch, before he turns his head to the side and throws up yellow, shimmery vomit all over his stomach and the floor.

 **Crowley, retching:** Uhhh. Urrrng.

 **Aziraphale, suddenly overwhelmingly concerned:** Oh dear, are you alright?

 **Crowley:** Yeah, it‘s just [He starts vomitting again.] I just [More retching.] I fucking hate salt.

Aziraphale soothingly starts rubbing his back. Mike looks at the scene awkwardly, feeling out of place.

 **Mike:** Uhhh... There‘s some water next to the bed, I think.

 **Aziraphale, crouching down:** Where- Ahh! [He triumphantly holds up a water bottle, dangling it in front of Crowley‘s annoyed face.] Look.

 **Crowley, grumpy:** Give that here, you. [He angrily snatches the plastic water bottle away and starts taking huge, thirsty gulps.] RRRnnG..!

There‘s a sudden sizzling sound coming from Crowley‘s throat, until he suddenly starts spitting out even _more_ vomit, this time mixed with a sizzling sort of black blood. Aziraphale looks worried, fretting over his friend.

 **Aziraphale:** What? What is it?

 **Crowley, gurgling on his own blood:** RRRRRHrRoly wRRAaaterrr...

Mike frantically keeps repeating „Sorry“ while Crowley glares at him, dropping the water bottle and accidentally splashing some onto his now boiling fingers, reinventing quite a few curse words. His entire body is a mess of blood, pus and vomit. He looks like a corpse. A very angry, disgruntled corpse. Aziraphale looks towards the culprit, the only human in the room, with a feral look.

 **Mike, panicked:** Sorry sorry sorry I‘m so sorry, I _swear_ I didn‘t know they mixed some of that in there!

At first, it seems as though Aziraphale is ready to smite him, changing his position to angelic fighting mode, that Crowley so lovingly likes to call his _business woman stance._ After realizing that these humans are just about new borns to this immortal being, he relents.

 **Aziraphale, assessing the damage with shaky fingers:** [He exhales in relief when Crowley flips him the bird in response. A good sign.] An honest mistake. [The demon switches gears to glare at him instead, still gurgling.] What?

There‘s another sizzling sound, coming from the floor. The holy water has started spilling on the wooden floors of the church. The church ground has started... melting? Crowley and Aziraphale stare at the strange phenomena before them, tilting their heads to the side in unison. Crowley looks horrified, Aziraphale meanwhile is intrigued. The acidic mixture has started aggressively eating a hole through the floor, revealing dirt and dust. There are spiders hurriedly fleeing from under the floorboards.

 **Aziraphale, stunned:** Huh.

 **Crowley, looking at him for reassurance:** Angel?

 **Aziraphale:** That‘s... not supposed to happen.

Crowley looks as if he just now realizes that his feet haven‘t started prickling, despite being on consecrated ground. Aziraphale looks as if he just now feels the energy of the room, all encompassing and downright menacing, and not at all christian. His entire being seems to be stifled by this presence. They‘re both deep in thought. Neither of them feels the need to inform the human in the room of this change of plot.

 **Crowley, muttering:** What the bloody hell is going on in here on this day

Leon takes that moment to bolt back into the room, crashing into the wooden door and shoving Mike and the camera out of his way, almost tripping over his own feet in his panic. He starts pointing accusingly at Aziraphale and Crowley, who look flabbergasted.

 **Leon, shrieking:** ALRIGHT WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM??

 **Crowley, spitting out some droplets of blood:** Whom?

 **Leon, on the verge of a panic attack:** Alex! He‘s not in the other room, and he‘s not in the hall either. Where the fuck is he?? [He vibrates with the sheer panic of it all, pointing the spray bottle at them again.] Talk! [He sniffles.]

Crowley starts putting his bloodied and boiled hands up in surrender, Aziraphale looks about ready to square up. There‘s an audible CLICK as the dash camera on the ceiling starts clicking back to life mysteriously. Everyone stops arguing to look at it in confusion. Mike starts punching some numbers on his manual camera.

 **Mike:** What the hell? This suddenly has 5 new cameras connected to bluetooth... They keep flooring up my memory card...

 **Leon, panicked:** What does that mean? What does that _mean?_

 **Mike, shrugging in defeat:** Means that somebody‘s watching us.

 **Crowley, opening his eyes wide in mock horror:** _God_? [He gasps dramatically and stabs the hole in the ground with the heels of his shoe.] That you down there?

It looks as if Aziraphale is ready to retort something, but has no chance to before the lights in the entire room start going haywire and exploding in perfectly synchronized chaos. There‘s voices, human whimpering and shrieking, demonic shrieking, as well as angelic bafflement. And that wet gurgling sound again, engulfing everything.

The camera shuts itself off with a loud CLICK.

 

There‘s a few minutes of a stuttering screen, a **TEXT** proclaiming:

> DIFFICULTY CONNECTING TO DEVICE
> 
> PLEASE TRY TURNING IT ON AND OFF AGAIN
> 
> CONSULT YOUR LOCAL CAMERA REPAIR SHOP
> 
> THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING CANON CAMERAS

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody rightfully noticed that Crowley's attitude towards the ghosts can be summed up with "I'm minding my own damn bloody business". I feel like typical, straight up hauntings are more of a human problem. Demons and angels alike tend to not be bothered by it so much, similiar to taxes. Or diabetes. So Crowley is probably just "Ghosts? *pointing towards the teenagers* Come get y'all juice"  
> As to Aziraphale having more of a "laissez faire boys-will-be-boys cool mom" vibe in this story, I honestly feel like he looks at teenagers screwing up the way we adults look at babies throwing up on our clothes or pulling our hair. Yeah, we're *angry*, but we're not that angry at their chaotic shenanigans. Both him and Crowley tend to converse/interact with strictly adults, I don't think Aziraphale has seen a real life human teenager since the 19th century.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley: Can we get some McDonald's on the way outta here  
> Aziraphale: There's still some leftover humans we gotta save  
> Crowley, tearing up: I hate this fucking family

NEXT SCENE: The front porch of the run down estate is seen, vacant and scary looking. Outside, the design is vastly different to the one inside, looking more like a family house instead of a former christian dormitory. There are spider webs everywhere, even covering the shut door. Inside, cursing, as well as futile encouragement, can be heard. There are hand prints covering the windows next to the entrance.

**Crowley, behind the door:** Ow ow ow ouch fuck f- _fuck!_

**Aziraphale, panting:** Sorry sorry, just a bit now. We‘re almost through. You‘re doing so well!

**Crowley, wheeze-screaming:** Shut _up!_

A crash, then suddenly the door is swung open, revealing the two. Crowley is hunched into himself, cradling his injured hand and currently being supported by a red faced, puffy angel. Aziraphale seems to be out of practice. He keeps losing his hold on Crowley‘s hip due to sweaty fingers. Once they exit the house, gingerly taking the steps one at a time, they both exhale in relief at the exact same moment.

**Aziraphale and Crowley, groaning in unison:** Finally.

**Crowley, muttering:** Dorm rooms... Are fucking bonkers...

**Aziraphale, fretting over his friend:** Are you absolutely positive you're-

**Crowley, cutting him off:** Oh, quit your nagging already, I'll be fine. Now onto more important matters: [He sighs dramatically, looking embarrassed to even be carried like this.] My ego, I'm not so sure...

Aziraphale places his friend on the grass next to the house, huffing and puffing. Crowley is objectively worse off, yet it‘s the angel that looks to be struggling more, flexing his fingers and stretching his cramped muscles. After a while, the movements start flowing more freely, until Aziraphale‘s powers have returned to him and he miracles himself clean of all the sweat and grease.

**Aziraphale, excitedly:** Hah! Would you look at that! Not a spot of blood. Marvelous.

**Crowley, in exactly the same state as he was before, unable to heal himself yet:** [Dramatic] GoooOood foOOor yOoouU. [He rolls his eyes and groans, looking at his shirt.] Never mind that that was one of my favorites shirt, eh? Never fucking _mind._

Aziraphale barely notices him, looking back towards the terror house and its open, inviting door. He looks to be contemplating something.

**Aziraphale:** I suppose I ought to... pop back in there to go fetch the others.

**Crowley, panicked and shrieking:** No no no don‘t you _dare_ leave me here! [He gestures with his free hand wildly, injuring himself.] Ouch. Don‘t you dare leave, you sorry excuse of an angel! [His eyes are shining with sheer, unfiltered fear.] Did you yet realize that we‘re basically _useless_ in there? Eh? There‘s a reason we couldn‘t just miracle us away, or why I couldn‘t free myself on my own! It‘s that _this_ [He points at the house in disgust.] is a bloody torture chamber. Worse yet, it‘s not even _our_ design, or _yours_ , it‘s distinctively and terrifyingly human! Can‘t you tell?

**Aziraphale, looking towards his friend:** You reckon?

**Crowley, nodding frantically:** Yes, bloody hell, yes! I could feel it, and I‘m sure you could, too. This is neither heaven nor hell. Everything in there was just about _vibrating_ with the giddiness of being able to suck the life force out of us! Not to mention it screwing with our heads and making us go loco. Let‘s get the hell outta here!

He‘s right. The house isn‘t so much haunted as it is haunt _ing_ , broken down and obscured by years and years of human abuse and horror. There are only a few instances where divine intervention or devilish whispers aren‘t the cause for chaos like this, and they‘ve found one. This is it. A sizzling shape of mess ready to engulf whomsoever dares enter it. A purgatory made to fit every single person individually.

**Aziraphale, shrugging and walking back towards the porch:** Very well, then. Can‘t exactly leave the poor lads alone in there, can we?

**Crowley, trying to crawl-sprint towards Aziraphale and stop him from leaving:** What part of _let‘s bounce_ don‘t you get? They were the ones who dragged me here in the first place. They _kidnapped_ me, fuck‘s sake!

Aziraphale has already entered the porch, holding the doorknob gingerly and looking at his crouching friend in concern.

**Aziraphale:** Crowley, they‘re _children_. Infants. They didn‘t know any better.

**Crowley, exaggerated:** They weren't infants. They were like... 12 or something. Old enough.

**Aziraphale, looking at him fondly:** Crowley, my _naps_ barely take 12 years. 12 years is nothing. [He smiles at Crowley‘s horrified expression.] Don‘t worry, I‘ll come back for you. We‘ll be back in the city before you know it! Poof! [He waves him goodbye.]

**Crowley, yelling after him:** Arrrgh, you stupid, goddamn - _angel!_ [Crowley starts hissing, a coping mechanism for whenever he is out of his depth. He looks absolutely feral, eyes glowing.] If you don‘t come back in 15 minutes, I‘m leaving without you, Zira! I swear to - I swear, I‘ll take my sorry ass outta here. I won‘t even wait for you!

Aziraphale has apparently found Mike, taking his broken body and gracefully throwing it out onto the grass. The poor boy‘s head is bashed in, pink and red fleshy goo is oozing out of a hole on his temple. Crowley looks at the body in disgust, thrown a millimeter away from his own broken one.

**Crowley, screaming:** Eww. Oi! Careful where you throw your trash! Can‘t exactly dodge out of the freaking way here.

**Aziraphale:** Sorry!

He grumbles, nudging the body with his foot so the flesh wound, along with the wide eyed, cold eyes, rolls off to the side. Aziraphale is already walking back up the stairs, his steps creaking ominously. Crowley stubbornly doesn't tell him to be careful, even though he really wants to.

Fade to black.

 

NEXT SCENE: A new room, this time. At second glance, not so much a room as it is a _space_ , sparsely occupied. If we squint just right, it could almost pass as a hunting cabin, but not quite. Everything is decidedly off, right down to the oppressing dirty lights. There‘s screams, inhuman screeching and wailing, hurried feet shuffling on the floor. In the far right corner is someone who appears to be Alex, curled up into the fetal position facing the wall. He nervously starts rocking his body back and forth. It is clear he has been at this for a while, possibly ever since he‘s been missing.

**Alex, quietly:** This isn‘t real this isn‘t real this isn‘t real I‘m hallucinating

Another screech, louder this time. After a while, it doesn‘t sound like a _lot_ of voices, but rather like _a_ voice, millions of sounds all rolled into one singular horrifying scream. It‘s clear to everyone that the voice, the thing, is looking for Alex.

**Alex, sob-wheezing:** I‘m fine I‘m fine I‘m fine it‘s all fine this is fine [A loud wet CRASH. Someone or something has thrown what looks to be a human arm just millimeters away from Alex, who starts reciting one of those anti anxiety quotes you find in therapy pamphlets:] A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships were made for. A ship in harbor is safe [Another CRASH, off screen] b-but that, that‘s not

A bulking **FIGURE** starts entering the frame by crawling on its hands and feet. There are pieces of flesh missing from it‘s broad back. It starts panting loudly, dog like.

**Alex, covering his ears with his palms:** This isn‘t real none of this is fine I mean I‘m fine this is a ship

The creature screeches, right next to his head. Alex flinches but keeps on. From this angle you can see that the eye sockets are sunken in, the teeth are ugly, sharp and wet. It almost looks as if it‘s especially angry for being ignored.

**Alex, louder this time:** This, this is a ship I‘m a harbor this is not what, what I‘m made for I‘m not _real_

The creature decides that it has had enough of this, and bites down on the soft flesh of Alex‘ exposed left bicep. Alex screams, desperately trying to free his arm whilst curling harder into himself. To no avail. With a wet gurgling sound, exactly like the ones before, the creature drags its victim away from the light, out of sight. Alex barely struggles as he‘s dragged across the floor. It looks as if he‘s had his eyes closed for the entire time, and even now they‘re closed.

The camera switches off, for a few seconds we can still hear a repeated mantra of „not real not real not real“ before that too fades out.

 

NEXT SCENE: Back at the front porch, Crowley‘s body is slowly starting to heal himself. Not that we can tell underneath all that blood. Currently he is just lying there on the grass, looking up at the sky. He looks to be conversing with the corpse next to him.

**Crowley, blowing out air:** Bloody fantastic, innit? First holiday I get in centuries, and _this_ is how I spend it... I suppose you wouldn‘t know about that, would ya? [He looks at the corpse.] Does child labor still exist in your America? I assume it doesn‘t... But then again, this is America.

The corpse doesn‘t seem to want to reply to that, either. Crowley rolls his reptile like eyes.

**Crowley:** You‘re no fun, anybody ever tell you that? [He sighs.] Suppose that‘s what you get for being a boring homophobe, eh? Didn‘t even last an hour alone in there. What an absolute disgrace.

No response, except for a hiss coming from the house. Crowley starts squinting towards the entrance.

**Crowley, scolding:** Shut it, you! I‘m not talking to you. [Louder hissing. Crowley starts rolling his eyes.] Paranormal phenomena, I swear to Satan. Never seem to be able to mind their own damn businesses, can they? Anyway, where was I? [Silence.] Ah, right! _Aziraphale,_ you wouldn‘t believe the amount of bullshit I‘ve had to suffer through because of that blabbering fool. Centuries, mate, centuries! More trouble than he‘s worth, that one!

He‘s lying. The demon knows it, the corpse knows it, even the house calls bullshit. But demons are nothing if not incredibly efficient when it comes to self denial, and insulting someone has always been Crowley‘s go to for whenever he feels overwhelmingly ... human. Currently, he is experiencing an emotion known as „worry“, for someone else other than himself or his Bentley. He‘s not new to that particular minefield, but that doesn‘t mean that he has to _like_ it. 0/10, would not recommend.

**Crowley, sighing:** Stupid, dumb angel and his stupid ... [He struggles for words.] face. And stupid hair. Always messy and all over the place, like, doesn‘t he own a bloody comb? Apparently not. Tss, unprofessional. And don‘t even get me started on the _suit_

The corpse remains silent. There‘s a CLICK as the camera switches its point of view again.

 

NEXT SCENE:

A hall, tiny and empty. And in the middle of it an angel, looking oddly out of place. There‘s barely any lights in the room, except for the one currently illuminating out of the last door, right at the end of the hall. It‘s the only one there.

**Aziraphale, laughing nervously:** Oh, that... that doesn‘t look good. [He looks over his shoulder.] That doesn‘t look good, either. Oh, oh no, what do I do. [He closes his eyes, inhaling through his nose to calm himself.] Alright, Aziraphale, you can do this. Just... use your head. No rush.

There‘s a **VOICE** radiating off the hall. It sounds... off. And hurt.

**Voice:** ... Angel?

**Aziraphale, looking up in panic:** Crowley?

**Voice, growing louder:** Help me, Az. Please... [It whimpers.] Help me...

It doesn‘t really sound like the original at second glance, more like a recording of someone real. Aziraphale has just seen his friend, injured but okay, outside. He knows this. And yet, at that first cry of _help,_ instinct has kicked in and has him sprinting forwards, towards the light and the imminent danger. His common sense seems to have been thrown out the window.

**Aziraphale, frantic:** Stay where you are, I‘ll come to you!

Just as he enters the light, the door slams shut behind him. Suddenly, the lights start flickering and shifting. The entire interior design of the hall starts molting, resorting back towards its default design of a clad room with broken down chairs and tables. It seems to be a cafeteria, at least back in the day. The door Aziraphale walked into is gone. The only indication of it ever having been there is a huge mold stain on the wall, green and ancient looking.

Fade to black.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale: No fear  
> Crowley being hurt  
> Aziraphale: One fear  
> TW: Aziraphale gets his feelings hurt. Talk of demonic suicide. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, I feel compelled to remind y'all that the Major character death tag is only there for appearances and that it's all gonna be fine. I think.

NEXT SCENE:

We‘re back in the praying room now, though this time there is no exorcism happening. There‘s a kid lying on the floor, right where the bed used to be. Holy water spray bottle still tightly clutched in his hand, even in unconsciousness. After a while, the human pushes out a „Urgh“ sound only prepubescents are capable of, and hoists himself up on his hands and knees. He appears to have a slight concussion, there‘s crusted blood covering his temple.

 **Leon, grunting:** Wha-... What just happened, guys? Guys?

No answer. The only response seems to be coming from the Jesus statue, who has just started weeping blood. The show of blasphemy doesn‘t seem to have the desired effect.

 **Leon, baffled:** Oh. Uh... Wow...? [He starts rubbing his eyes furiously.] Is that stage blood?

There‘s a SCREECH coming from behind the altar. The house doesn‘t seem to appreciate not being taken seriously. A rotten hand, belonging from the same CREATURE as before, starts peeking out, revealing sharp claws. Leon looks worried, yes, but apparently due to him hitting his head, or just due to his personality, can‘t seem to muster up the energy to truly be frightened. As it is, he just kind of looks annoyed. He looks like a stereotypical teenager who just got woken up by their parents. The zombie like creature growls from its hunched down position.

 **Leon, positioning the spray bottle:** Can I help you? [It screams. Leon just looks confused.] Look, you seen my friends anywhere? Or... demonic prisoner? Or his boytoy, blondie?

The creature looks at him, white eyes and sharp teeth, before it seems to shift to change its form. Leon still doesn‘t look impressed. It‘s going full zombie now, apparently resorting to the form of a middle aged decaying man. There are maggots eating parts of its face. The zombie slowly but surely starts wobbling towards him, stretching out its arms. Leon doesn‘t hesitate before aiming at it with the holy water.

 **Leon:** Back off, bitch. [The zombie starts gurgling wetly.] You can‘t scare me. I‘ve seen _Evil Dead_ twelve times. [He shrugs.] Yeah, I might‘ve cried the first time, and yeah, after my first _The Exorcist_ watch I might‘ve peed my pants, _but._ But! Who hasn‘t?I‘m no longer a freaking kid. I‘m an adult. I barely flinch at gory scenes now.

The zombie is right in front of him now, hungrily grabbing for his left leg. Leon kicks its kneecaps in, making it stumble. The zombie yells out.

 **Leon, dramatically:** Did I fucking _stutter?_

He hoists his weapon, and fires. The holy water hits the zombie right in the face, torching a huge gap in its skull and brain. Its resulting scream is so desperate and so startingly human, full of hurt. It‘s jarring. Leon manages to start standing on his own feet again, though wobbly and uncoordinated. He rapidly blinks smears of red out of his vision. He seems scared, alright, but also determined. He moves away from the slowly dying corpse, and with shaking legs and a pulsing headache moves towards the door. It looks as if he‘s muttering „Paranormal expert, baby“ to himself.

The scene cuts off.

 

NEXT SCENE:

We‘re back at the front porch. Crowley (the real Crowley, presumably) has taken to anxiously walking back and forth in a wobbly line. He doesn‘t look so good.

 **Crowley, muttering:** Damn it damn it damn it damn _it._ Great _fucking_ rescue, eh.

He starts anxiously biting on his lower lip, chancing a fleeting glance towards the house. Still no sign of a certain angel, or anyone for that matter. It‘s been barely 15 minutes, and yet to Crowley it feels like it‘s been _hours_. He‘s well and truly panicked now.

 **Crowley, hissing towards the porch:** Alright, Aziraphale? I‘ve just about _had it_ with you! If you don‘t poke your bleached blonde head outta there within 2 minutes, I‘m outta here! [His screeching starts going more high pitched.] You hear me? 2 minutes!

Crowley has never before felt as human as he does now, standing in the mud, covered in various bodily fluids. Desperately trying to guilt trip his only friend into coming back for him. He‘s tried everything, even faked possibly dying to lure him back. No dice. Crowley feels like an absolute fool.

 **Crowley, slowly walking towards the horror house:** Fine, you‘ve forced my hand. Last resort. [He sighs, closing his eyes for a second, before glaring daggers into the wooden door.] I‘ll count to three, and then I‘m gone. 1! ... [No answer. Crowley starts moving closer.] ..... 1 1/2 .......... 2 .........

He keeps stealing glances towards the door, which stubbornly remains empty. For some ungodly reason, his feet keep dragging him toward the door, and towards the danger. It‘s clear from his facial expression that he has no idea what the hell he‘s even doing, but he knows that he doesn‘t want to be here. But he doesn‘t want to leave without Aziraphale, either. He‘s at a cross roads, and completely out of his wits. He‘s about three feet away from impending doom.

 **Crowley, taking a hold of the rusty doorknob:** Fuck fuck fuck bloody hell _fuck_

Normally, under any other circumstances, he would be delighted at this turn of events. Anthony J. Crowley has always had a fable towards the spooky, towards the unexplained. There was a reason he‘d haunted the movie set of _Poltergeist_ , after all, and it wasn‘t because he had been delegated to. No, he‘d just felt that the motion picture would do well with a little more... authenticity. Hell, he‘d met a few friendly and not so friendly ghosts or two. It‘s the thought of being without his power that scared him the most. The thought of a certain angel, all alone and defenseless in there.

 **Crowley, muttering:** Not like I can just sit on my arse out here and let you reap all the guts and glory, angel. [He turns back towards the camera, looking straight into it with a death stare.] If someone ever manages to find this, I hope they put it on record that I was the only one here with half a brain. [His stare grows more anxious.] And Aziraphale, if you‘re watching this: If I die, I want you to know that this is all your fault. And that I hate you.

Grimly, he walks forward and back into the house. The door slams possessively shut behind him.

Fade to black.

 

NEXT SCENE:

We‘re in a ... church? It seems like it on the surface, but once you look closer it‘s evident that where there should be christian sigils, there are only mold stains. Where there should be a crucifix there is a swarm of spiders, lined up exactly like a cross. Candles are lit everywhere, but it‘s scarcely enough to illuminate the two figures in the room. An angel and a fallen one, few feet apart. The fallen one, or what looks like one, is sitting in the middle of the floor, hands to the floor and back arched like a cat. We can‘t see his face, but his hands are outstretched on the marble and curled like claws.

 **Aziraphale, looking conflicted:** C-Crowley...? Are you quite alright? [He cautiously takes a step forward, arms outstretched in a sort of non threatening manner.] What are you doing on the floor?

The Crowley figure starts hissing and arching his back further, to an impossible amount. The movement rubs bones together with a sickening _knack_. He mumbles something unintelligible.

 **Aziraphale:** What was that? I couldn‘t hear you.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the fallen angel stands up on shaky legs, still with his back turned towards the camera. Something‘s not quite right with his head, it‘s almost as if there‘s ... a gap. Like a dent in the skull. Something is clearly off, and Aziraphale has noticed by now too.

 **Aziraphale:** Crowley...?

 **Crowley, in a monotone voice:** You‘re too late, Angel. [He laughs softly, without moving an inch. He shrugs.] Always too late. Still, I‘m glad you could make it to my final resting place.

 **Aziraphale, voice wobbling slightly:** Your what?

The angel lets out an audible gasp as soon Crowley has turned fully around. He‘s frozen in place, and although the camera can‘t make out his face, it must be full of horror and shock. Because Crowley‘s face... well, it would be a stretch to call that a face. There is a huge gaping hole to the right, showcasing a scorched brain and the remnants of a human skull. His one eye is gone, as is his nose. They‘re all somewhere on his shirt, liquefied to hell and back. There‘s a flesh wound on his right shoulder, and through the tattered remnants of his shirt and jacket, there are muscles visible, still moving slightly. His hair is completely gone, as is his forehead and scalp. There‘s still somewhat of a left eye, but one half of it has already started liquifying and making its way over his cheek and parts of lips. He looks terrifying. He looks dead. Without that one pupil, no one would have even been able to tell that it was Crowley. Still, with his remaining lip tissue and a whole lot of yellow teeth, he smiles. His body is flickering slightly in the camera.

 **Crowley:** Don‘t you get it? [He opens his arms wide open, the hurt one starts oozing blood on the floor at the movement.] This is my funeral. You might have been too late in the grand scheme of things, but at least you showed up right on time for the burial, eh? [He chuckles.] You know, I really oughta thank you for this. It‘s not every day that a demon‘s suicide is aided by an angel‘s helping hand. This will go down in the history books, this.

 **Aziraphale, clenching and unclenching his hands while shaking his head repeatedly:** No, this this isn‘t real. I‘m... hallucinating. I just saw you, you were, you were _fine_ , I - [He struggles for words.] I saved you.

 **Crowley, tilting his head to the side, his exposed brain wobbling about uncomfortably:** Really? Are you sure? From what, exactly, did you save me? [He looks at him sympathetically.] Tragedy what the grieving mind can be capable of.

Unbeknownst to him, the spiders on the wall have slowly but surely starting to make their way towards the frozen angel. Their legs are impossibly long.

 **Aziraphale, stuttering:** Y-You- I - ... saved you... From .... [He looks down at his hands, his shoes, stares at the church. He looks absolutely panicked] I don‘t remember.

 **Crowley, smiling warmly:** Oh, you poor thing. Look at you. Grief has absolutely torn you apart, turned your memory into grilled cheese. You were always quite forgetful, weren‘t you? Clumsy angel. Tss. [He shakes his head. Some of his pupils have started seeping into his open mouth.] Always too late. Lazy. Too soft. Forget your head next.

 **Aziraphale, tears evident in his voice:** Why would you...? How _could_ you...?!

 **Crowley:** Why not? The better question is: how could I _not_? [He huffs.] Come on, Angel, put those angelic spider senses to work. You know me, you‘ve _always_ known it would come to this. Maybe not as fast, or in this manner. But you knew right from the time I first asked you, all those years ago, what the endgame here was. _Insurance,_ remember? I was always quite melancholic, wasn‘t I? Theatrical. [He points towards a few candles to prove his point.] And _you_ always had the tendency to overestimate people, always have always will. [He smiles reassuringly.] Don‘t worry, it‘s one of your more endearing traits. It‘s just that, in this case, you miscalculated. Overestimated my will to live over my habit of taking the easy route out. Can‘t save everybody. It‘s okay.

 **Aziraphale, enraged:** I don‘t believe you...! [His voice starts shaking slightly. He rapidly blinks back tears.] How can you be dead and gone, and yet still be here to judge me?

Crowley laughs, loud and shrill, guts and blood flying everywhere. He slowly starts making his way towards his friend, but the way he walks is off. Not the usual confident swagger Crowley is known for, reminiscent of a being who‘d just not _quite_ figured out how limbs work. Or a coma patient who‘d just woken up. No, this Crowley walks slowly, straight forward, his feet in a straight line. It‘s a dead give away, and yet Aziraphale is too shocked to really notice. The spiders have by now started crawling inside his pantsuit, and up his legs. He hasn‘t noticed that, either.

Crowley, standing a breath away from him, starts cupping Aziraphale‘s grief stricken face in his torn and shredded hands. This sort of display of affection is also irregular, we can hear Aziraphale‘s audible gasp.

 **Crowley, soothingly rubbing circles over Aziraphale‘s cheekbones:** Sweetheart. My dear. That‘s because I‘m _not_ here. Or, well. [He shrugs.] Not like this, exactly. My gooey remains are right in front of you, can‘t you see? [He looks at him intensely.] Open up your eyes, angel.

Aziraphale does, looking away from the corpse in front of him, to his left. As soon as he notices the pool of flesh on the floor, a broken piece of sunglasses swimming in it, he gasps and tears his body away from the Crowley in front of him, staggering backwards. That puddle hadn‘t been there earlier.

 **Aziraphale, shaking his head frantically:** No no no no you told me it wouldn‘t come to this, you _told_ me...! _Promised_ me...

 **Crowley, chuckling:** Angel, angel, angel. You really ought to know better than to believe the promises of a _demon_. Lying‘s kind of in the job description. And after all, what better way to leave this world than with a cardinal sin? Already spent the last 6,000 years perfecting the other 7 deadly ones.

 **Aziraphale, eyeing him:** Are- are you a ghost, then?

 **Crowley:** Tss, no, ‘course not! Demons don‘t have _souls_ , remember? I‘m merely here for your entertainment. Grieving mind, remember? Remarkable things. [He waves his hand in the air.] Anyway, back to the real topic of conversation. You ever so lovingly placing the cyanide pill right between my teeth. And you‘d really think I wouldn‘t bite down on it? Please. In some small part of your subconscious, you‘d had to have known. [He smiles lovingly at him.] It was the most romantic gesture you could have ever given me. What‘s a bouquet of flowers to this?

Angels are different to humans in that they have never been taught not to cry. No toxic masculinity, no patriarchy has ever told them that showcasing emotion was weakness. Maybe it is written down somewhere in some angel manual, but if it is, then Aziraphale has forgotten to read that particular one. Which is why the angel has started crying quite liberally with seemingly no end in sight. Tears, for the both of them, start running down his cheeks and staining his jacket.

 **Aziraphale, back to being a stuttering, sobbing mess:** I‘m so _so_ sorry, Crowley, please, I-

 **Crowley, cutting him off with a stern, hardened look:** Oh, don‘t you go begging for forgiveness now. It‘s already too late for that. Demons don‘t grand mercy. [He chuckles darkly.] Make no mistake, no lake, no river, and no ocean will be able to wash your hands clean. [He grins suddenly, all sharp teeth.] And anyway, I‘m a figure of your own imagination. A phantom of your subconscious. You‘d only be pleading to yourself. Sure, I‘m not the original, but guess what?

He slides towards the angel, taking his left hand in his and slowly massaging it. There are spiders, as well as roaches, crawling out of Crowley‘s sleeve and up Aziraphale‘s, who has just stood there and stared at his dead friend desperately. The camera can make out the path of the insects over Aziraphale‘s skin due to his jacket and shirt straining over the quite big specimen. He still hasn‘t noticed.

 **Crowley, whispering soothingly:** I can still be your little devil over your shoulder, if you want.

Crowley, or this version of Crowley, starts eyeing the camera presumably hanging up on the ceiling with absolute glee in his eyes. Aziraphale‘s visage is starting to look a little comatose.

 **Crowley, smirking:** We have all the time in the world.

The camera shuts off with a depressing CLICK.

Fade to black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody wanna place any bets on what Crowley's worst fear is? Just out of curiousity.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I, as a writer, instruct intricate rituals which allow a demon to touch the skin of an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating this so late-ish, but my homeboy Germany got hit with THE biggest, most severe heat wave since 2003 and Crowley, if this is your work, I'm fucking coming for you. I can't form a coherent thought in 37°C weather, let alone write a sentence, so. Today has been the first day where it hasn't been humid af after dark, so I decided to force myself to write this entire thing within like 4 hours. I took snack breaks in between. It's now 5-6 am ish and a bitch needs to SLEEP, which is why I haven't really proof read this chapter too much. Blame global warming.

NEXT SCENE: We‘re back in the house, the real tangible one. No longer a nightmarish hellscape, but pretty damn close still. The camera is currently positioned in the hallway, a very grumpy looking Crowley smack in the middle of the shot. At first glance he seems fine, but it almost looks like he‘s desperately trying not to pay attention to whatever it is that is going on to his right. He keeps chancing glances towards the darkness, looking panicked.

**Crowley, frantic:** Not listening to you not listening to you not listening, that‘s not Aziraphale

There‘s a spider crawling all over his left arm, ripping him momentarily away from his chanting.

**Crowley, smacking the spider away:** Piss off! [Sternly talking to the spider, which just looks at him dumbly:] I know all about your little spiel. Can‘t fool me. I‘m not letting you nibble on any of my juices!

There‘s commotion in the far left of the room, what looks like someone clumsily walking about and knocking over ten different things at once. A teenager‘s voice echoes through the hall, a voice we‘ve heard before.

**Leon, walking into frame and looking very disheveled:** Wait, what? [He blinks, clearly still dizzy from his head injury.] I don‘t want your juices.

**Crowley, shushing him:** I‘m not talking to _you_ , I‘m talking to her! [He accusingly points a finger at the spider on the floor, which hurriedly scrambles away.] Or him. It? [He looks at the nearest wall in confusion, yelling:] Oi, do horror houses follow human‘s binary gender system? Or do you lot just go with the flow?

There‘s no answer. We get the impression that no one‘s, or rather nothing‘s, really listening in on them, anyway.

**Leon, confused:** Uhhh, anyway. I kinda got a lot on my plate right now, so. [He sighs, rubbing his bloodied temple.] You mind telling me where my boyfriend is, demon? Or where your little blonde boy toy took him?

It seems that just now has Crowley remembering where the hell he even currently is, and what he actually came back inside for. With inhumane strength and speed, a blink of a moment, he‘s no longer standing in the hallway, but right in front of Leon, smacking him against the wall with brute strength. The human is clearly surprised to be manhandled like this, having underestimated him. Grave mistake. Crowley is holding him up with two fingers in his shirt like someone would with a bag of groceries.

**Leon, struggling for air:** Wha- What‘s...?

**Crowley, hissing:** Shut it. [He grins.] Oh, look how the tables have turned, eh? Now you‘re the squeamish one and I‘m the one, well... [He tightens his grip to an uncomfortable amount.] Doing the squishing. [He looks at him enraged.] First things first, don‘t talk about Aziraphale that way! He‘s not my boy toy, he‘s my ... [He‘s clearly struggling for words.]

**Leon, wheezing:** Boyfriend?

**Crowley, stroking his lower lip in thought:** Hmmm, no.

**Leon, growing increasingly paler and bluer:** Life partner? Partner in crime? Fellow associate? Workplace buddy? Immortal enemy? Rodeo partner? [Whispering:] Please I can‘t breathe

**Crowley, scowling:** No, damn it, no! [He seems to have forgotten that humans need to breathe, pushing his fingers into Leon‘s windpipe.] _Second_ , [He loosens his hold, finally letting his prisoner gulp in air again.] I was alright with your little stunt earlier. Sure, my ego might have been... mortally wounded, but never let it be said that Anthony J. Crowley can‘t be sporting. Exorcism? Jolly. Holy water skit? Ha ha! Hilarious. I was willing to let you all oh so graciously go and live the rest of your boring, pathetic, human lives. But now, [He chuckles, moving slowly towards his prey.] now, I can‘t seem to find my friend, who was just gullible and stupid enough to run off after you dipshits. And that, well, that just won‘t do. Now you‘ve truly gone and proper pissed me off. [He snips his finger into Leon‘s forehead, making his head hit the wall with a loud thud.] So how about _this_ , eh, you shut your chapped, thin lips and tag along like a good puppy while I go find my angelic idiot. And if you don‘t, [He chuckles, looking a lot more demonic than he did five minutes ago.] I will lock all you poor suckers in here for eternity. So help me Satan, I will go out that door and then torch, screw, who knows even staple it damn shut! Until all you and your boyfriend will have to look forward to will be eternity in this shit hole, oh so slowly being eaten alive by whatever lurks beneath the veil here. [He suddenly smiles, still threatening but under the pretense of friendliness.] So what do you say, champ? We got a deal?

**Leon, coughing:** We- We do.

Crowley leaves his side at once, walking backwards and clapping his hand dramatically. He does a little spin, locking eyes with the camera on the wall.

**Crowley, yelling:** Great! Fucking ama _zing_! You seen that, huh? I‘m being civil. Whatever entity fills this house, I hope you realize the effort I‘m going for, here! [He grins, his eyes glittering dangerously.] Also, I hope you and your spider loonies know that you‘re all _whores!_ Filthy pieces of human secrete that no one‘s bothered to entertain for centuries! [The camera zooms in on his face, apparently either intrigued or enraged. Leon is just standing there and looking confused. Crowley grins harder in response to the sound of a lens fixing on him.] Yeah, you. King shit! Give me back my _angel!_ I‘m not letting you turn my suffering into some kinda grotesque mockumentary! So you better turn that shit _off,_ or so help me Satan! By the time I will get my hands around your slimy, slimy throat, you‘ll be _wishing_ you were human, you big sack of-

**Leon, panicked, trying to wrestle him away from the camera:** No, don‘t piss it off!

**Crowley, ignoring him and smacking his hands away:** It can go fuck-

There‘s a loud CRACK as the camera shuts off at the same time that the dim lights in the hallway go off at once. It‘s suddenly pitch black on screen, with only a faint hissing as audio. It seems that the house hasn‘t appreciated Crowley‘s potty mouth.

 

NEXT SCENE: Back in the church, the place of the failed exorcism, the walls have started leaking. There‘s a certain dust in the air that just screams mold, and the tapestry is more cracks than paint at this point. The Jesus statue‘s head has been ripped off and every single one of the chairs have been broken into tiny pieces. It seems that this is the house‘s heart. It‘s gigantic, twice the size as the normal church was, the endings obscured by moving shadows. And it‘s angry.

There‘s a fallen fallen angel, draped dramatically over half a pair of chair legs, a splinter of said chair impaling his left leg, as well as a standing angel off to the side, fixed to a spot as if hanging by a thread. Crowley looks like the house has just about beat his ass for his rude remarks.

Aziraphale‘s eyes look glassy and gray, still seemingly looking shocked. There‘s a thin thread of roaches, so many of them it looks like a thread of black goo, attaching his hand to the floor. It‘s thin, but the ends reach all the way inside his opened palm, ending god knows where. Leon is there as well, though his fall looks to be a lot less gracefully. The wound on his head has started bleeding again.

**Crowley, groaning from his position on the floor:** Urgggghh. Nnrrrrgg. [He sighs, rubbing at his eyes.] This whole being haunted business is hell for my knees. And my joints. [His neck makes a loud cracking noise as he twists it, wincing.] And my neck. Don‘t even get me started on my _back_.

Now that he‘s woken up and bitched a little bit, he finally has the time to look around himself and notice the change of scenery. The angel being parked to the side isn‘t the first thing his squinted eyes fix at, but it‘s the most memorable. His serpent eyes do a double take, eyes comically wide, before he‘s off and walking. Running towards his angel. Or, well, limping.

**Crowley, over excited:** Angel! There you are! Oh, I‘ve been so worried- I mean. [He coughs, still limping forward.] I can‘t believe you made me do this!

After making his way fully towards his angel, Crowley by now has started noticing two things. One, that Aziraphale still hasn‘t answered, which is in itself already a bad sign and two, that his eyes are glassy and unfocused, even when he‘s standing right in front of him and wobbling around like a mad man. Even a little demonic snip of his fingers won‘t do much. His yellow eyes have gone from annoyed to relieved back to annoyed and now to worried, in less than 5 minutes.

**Crowley:** Aziraphale? Zira, you okay? [He huffs.] I can‘t bloody well carry you out of here bridal style, my fuckin‘ leg got impaled, see? [He starts tapping his own thigh.] So if you could get your angelic miracles flowing, that‘d be well appreciated. [Silence.] Aziraphale? You hear me? Are you taking one of your naps? [He starts gingerly touching his friend, first his forehead and then his neck, as if feeling for fever.] What‘s wrong with you... [He starts looking around frantically, probably looking for the culprit, yelling:] The fuck did you do with him?!

**Leon, crouching on his hands and knees, groaning in pain:** Who _yells_? [He sighs.] I fucking hate these fast cuts in between scenes. [He blinks, holding his head gingerly, while squinting at the display of affection in front of him.] Wow. ‘S he dead?

**Crowley, panicked, voice a couple octaves higher:** He‘s not _dead!_

Leon just raises his hand in a surrender and a mock shrug. He manages to stand up on his own, though he does almost trip over his own feet a couple times. When he does manage, Leon grins in excitement.

**Leon:** I‘m so badass. Not even a demon or a monster house can sweep me off my feet.

**Crowley, giving him side eye, before focusing his attention back on Aziraphale:** Okay, Zira? I don‘t know what‘s happening, but uhh... I need you to wake up now. I need you. Your little humans need you.

**Leon, offended:** Hey, I‘m not little! Stop telling your boyfriend I‘m little when I‘m super grown up!

**Crowley, shushing him:** Can‘t you see? We‘re all going absolutely mental over here without you! [He starts biting his lip, anxiously wracking through his brain for a way to wake his friend.] Okay, if you can hear me, I‘m sorry. Not really but yeah. [Crowley suddenly slaps Aziraphale with his left palm, creating a loud clapping sound resonating all over the church. Aziraphale‘s head hasn‘t even moved from the impact.] Ah, shit! Shit shit shit fuck what do I do

He starts frantically limping around in circles right in front of his comatose best friend, while a very concussed and also very bored teenager looks on. Leon yawns, scratching his head.

**Leon:** Have you tried turning him on and off again?

**Crowley, whipping up at him to glare:** Have I- What, you- you little _brat!_ You‘re the reason we‘re in this mess in the first place! If you‘ve got nothing constructive to add, how about you shut. the _fuck._ up.

He whirls back towards Aziraphale, looking him up and down. Only now noticing the roach string draining his palm. He carefully takes Aziraphale‘s hand in his, squinting down at the roaches.

**Crowley:** What the- What in the flying fuck is that? [Desperately looking up at his face:] What‘s this house done to you? What‘d they show you to entrap you like this?

Crowley starts shooing the roaches away, ripping the thread out violently and throwing them on the floor. He stomps down on some of them for good measure, and the answering high pitch screech sounds like heaven to his ears. Or hell.

**Crowley:** Piss off, the lot of you! Leave him alone! [He starts possessively clamping down on Aziraphale‘s hand in a sort of angry, aggressive hand holding session, as the slimy insects start making their way back. Crowley doesn‘t seem to yet realize the whole hand holding business.] Aziraphale, I...

He sighs, clasping his hands together, still holding his angel‘s. It seems as if he‘s trying to get ready to pray, and he doesn‘t look happy about it.

**Crowley:** Dear... Aziraphale. If you can hear me, from wherever you were dragged off into, I‘m officially giving you permission. You hear me? I‘m letting you drain me for power, however much you need. Me, the selfish bastard. Amen. [He closes his eyes, looks as if he‘s in pain suddenly.] Dear Aziraphale if we survive this I want that table at the Ritz, amen. Aziraphale, take whatever you need amen. [Crowley starts clenching his teeth and has taken to holding his friend‘s hand in a death grip. The whole ordeal doesn‘t look at all pleasant.] Amen amen amen. Amen. Aziraphale, please listen to me. Hear me... O Aziraphale, holy one... Angel of... book shops. Rob my strength from this foul body, so that we may... return from whence we came. Cleanse me of my sins. And as it is ... [He seems to have forgotten the words.] As it is in hel- heaven, as it is in heaven, so it shall be on earth. Amen. Hal... Hallelujah?

There‘s an audible gasp as Aziraphale‘s eyes finally fill back with colour, the soft pink returning back to his cheeks and lips. Crowley hasn‘t heard because he‘s still deep in prayer, sweating all the while, as if he‘s doing a sprint. He might as well be. Aziraphale looks confused, and even more so after feeling the two metal rods trying to crush his left hand to oblivion. He‘s even more confused when his eyes fix on the creature in front of him. Confused and... relieved. Incredibly relieved.

**Aziraphale, voice shaking slightly:** C-Crowley...? You... [He laughs wetly, fresh tears streaking his cheeks, as he awkwardly tries to engulf his friend in a crushing hug.] Oh, you silly bugger! You shouldn‘t have.

**Crowley, raising his eyebrows in confusion:** Angel?

**Aziraphale, sniffling:** Yes?

**Crowley, going red faced:** Why are you squeezing my chest with your chest?

Aziraphale starts laughing wetly as he lets him go with one hand. He starts wiping tears off his face.

**Aziraphale:** Oh, forgive me, I just... Well... I‘m just glad you‘re alright.

**Crowley, still not fully understanding the situation, squinting at his friend:** Sure, if you consider getting tasered, shackled, tasered again, tortured, almost exorcised, thrown across a room, and then stabbed in the leg _alright_ then yes. I‘m alright.

**Aziraphale, sighing and rolling his eyes fondly:** Why must you always be so dramatic?

**Crowley, smiling warmly down at him:** It‘s my default setting.

They‘re still holding hands. Neither of them has felt any need to stop that any time soon.

**Aziraphale, looking down at their intertwined hands:** Why are we...

**Crowley:** Holding hands? Heh. Funny story. [He grins, cheeks reddening a small amount. It might be the demon blushing, or it might not be. Could also be the light.] Let‘s just say, for your well being of course, that we should stick to securing that your palm is covered at all times so critters can‘t come... crawling in there, okay? Trust me. [He shrugs.] Don‘t think of it as hand holding, think of it as strategic wound drainage.

Leon off to the side, rolling his eyes: Are you sure you guys aren‘t a 100% gay?

**Aziraphale, looking from him back to Crowley:** ?

**Crowley, growing increasingly anxious:** Heh, also funny story! [He laughs nervously.] I‘ll tell you later.

He doesn‘t get to finish his story before there‘s a loud scream bouncing off the walls. It‘s human, or it sounds like it. It also sounds like whoever it is is dying.

**Leon, panicked:** Alex? [He starts running off in search of the voice.]

Aziraphale starts going off trying to pursue the humans, if it weren‘t for the dead weight currently refusing to be moved attached to his hand. Crowley looks annoyed, as well as slightly hurt. He looks like a teenager who‘s been forced to trudge along to one too many family gatherings.

**Aziraphale, scolding:** Crowley. [He gives him a Look, one that he has mastered over the centuries. Only brought out during the most severe cases. One that‘s never once failed him, even now.]

**Crowley, sighing as he starts following his angel:** Fine.

It doesn‘t take them long for the duo to catch up to Leon, and presumably his boyfriend. Or well, what‘s left of it boyfriend. Lying there, on the floor. It isn‘t much.

**Aziraphale, gasping after seeing all the blood:** Oh, dear.

There‘s blood covering most of his body, most likely coming from the huge gaping hole where 3/4s of his right arm used to be. It looks as if it was ripped clean off, which is strange considering the little blood coming out of it. The only one who seems to notice the discrepancy is Crowley, though, softly nudging the angel to his right. Leon has started crouching down next to his boyfriend, gingerly holding his face in his hands.

**Leon, ugly crying:** Hey, stay with me. You‘re okay, we‘re gonna be fine. [He sniffles, smiling.] Ship in a harbor, remember?

**Alex, wheeze laughing:** Ow... I‘m sorry. I got scared.

**Leon, shaking his head furiously:** Don‘t be.

**Alex, coughing in between words:** It... It was the zombies... _Evil Dead._

**Leon, laughing weakly:** You told me you loved that movie.

The angel and demon behind them are looking at the two of them with an odd sort of expression. As if they‘re embarrassed to be intruding on this private moment.

**Alex:** I... I only said I loved it, cuz you loved it... [Wincing.] Don‘t be mad, but... I wanted to look cool... I‘m sorry... I couldn‘t watch... the whole thing.

**Leon, wiping streaks of blood off his cheek with his thumb:** It‘s okay. I know. It‘s okay.

**Alex, looking up at the ceiling:** While we‘re... sharing famous last words, I ... You have to know, I ... [He starts coughing violently.]

**Leon:** Shh, save your strength.

**Alex, swallowing visibly:** I... I fucking hate horror. _Blair Witch_ ‘s scary. She made them stand in the corner... I don‘t like playing exorcists. [His breathing starts going shallower and irregular.] I just wanted to spend time with... with you.

Aziraphale and Crowley chance a look at each other as Leon starts crying again. They don‘t really know what to say, especially since both of them are by now pretty sure that the severe injury Alex has sustained is a hallucination caused by the house, and that he‘s not actually dying. Neither of them want to break the moment either.

Someone, or rather something else, does though. There‘s a loud growling as the creature from before, the one who had dragged Alex off, starts crawling its way back into the light. It looks... smaller, somehow. As if the incident with the holy water had taken its toll. It‘s still incredibly frightening though, with blood covering its many, many teeth.

**Crowley, looking alarmed:** Angel...?

**Aziraphale, looking to be in deep thought:** Give me a moment, I think in a minute I might... be able to miracle us out of here. I think. I don‘t know. Its hold is still so very strong. [Nervous hand waving towards the monster.] Hey there.

**Creature, making its way towards them:** [Growling starts growing louder.]

**Crowley, whisper-yelling:** Angel...! I‘m all used up here, do something! [He starts looking around frantically, until a thought seems to pop up in his head.] Hey, kid? Mr Exorcist? You still got that exorcism memorized in your head?

**Leon, looking up from his ‚dying‘ boyfriend, looking confused:** Yeah... why? [He finally notices the horrifying sight in front of them, mouthing „Shit“.]

**Crowley, slowly dragging himself and Aziraphale towards the teenagers as if to shield them:** Reckon you could bring out some of your meaner exorcisms for this one? I was thinking more 15th century? A little Spanish Inquisition, perhaps?

**Aziraphale, gasping:** But, Crowley, what if-

**Creature:** [Loud screeching. It‘s almost right in front of them now, mere feet away.]

**Crowley, puffing:** Tss, I‘ll be fine. Look at me. Shirt‘s already ruined. Hair looking a mess. How could I possibly get any worse than I look right now, eh? [Looking towards Leon:] Go ahead, kid. Shoot me up. [He squeezes Aziraphale‘s finger reassuringly.] Don‘t worry about me.

So Leon does exactly that, stumbling over an ancient Latin incantation his father had stored in a book all the way on the last shelf of the library. His stuttering voice is barely enough of a whisper, but it gets the job done. With a CLACK, the camera shuts off, sizzling. The entire screen is pitch black darkness.

The monster‘s scream is the first sound after that, horrified and pained, and soon after that another monster‘s scream, this time a serpent. Together they slowly start to blend into one long, drawn out screech of two separate dying animals. It‘s haunting. And then, mixed together in that undying wail, a smaller voice, singsonging „Oh lord, get us out of here“ very quietly. There‘s more screaming after that, this time the humans have apparently joined in on the fun, as well.

Fade to black.

 

There‘s a **TEXT** on the screen, reading out various dates and names, along with an awfully photo shopped cross, and a couple _„REST IN PEACE“‘s_ flying here and there _._

 

 

> **LEON T.                          ALEX T.                             MIKE G.**
> 
> **1984 - 2001                1983 - 2001                      1983 - 2001**
> 
>  

**REST IN PEACE, BRAVE WARRIORS. GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.**

 

 

**SPECIAL CONDOLENCES GO TO:**

 

> **„ANTHONY J. CROWLEY“                             „ASSI RAFFEL“**
> 
> **??? - 2001                                          ??? - 2001**
> 
>  
> 
>  

There‘s a long, drawn out piano version of _„Hurt“_   by Johnny Cash playing meanwhile. After that, a long text explaining to various producers and copyright owners that naming x and y horror movie is protected under American Law and To Please Not Sue Us, Please.

 

After that, a prequel of sorts. The NEXT AND FINAL SCENE is a flashback to a few days earlier, shot on the back of what seems to be Alex, holding the heavy camera with both arms and grunting. They‘re in front of presumably Crowley‘s apartment, wearing the most inconspicuous and yet suspicious looking black hoodies ever.

**Alex, puffing out air:** Guys, this shit is really heavy.

**Mike, mockingly:** tHis shIt iS reAlLy HeaVy~ [He scoffs.] Pussy!

**Leon, glaring at them both:** Shhh, quiet! Mike, call my- call Alex a pussy again and I‘ll give you nipple twisters every day for the rest of our lives. [Whispering:] So, dear viewer, we are about to enter... [He drops his voice a couple octaves lower:] The lion‘s den. We have to be incredibly careful so as not to attract attention.

Mike, while rolling his eyes, just starts ringing the doorbell. There‘s a voice coming from the closed door, as well as lazy footsteps. The teenagers get ready to strike, Mike holding his beloved taser gun. The door is dramatically swung open, revealing a very sleepy looking demon, holding a bottle of Bourdeaux wine from the 18th century in his hands.

**Demon:** Hastur, Ligur, to what do I owe this displeasure- Who the hell are you?

He seems to have forgotten his sunglasses. Big mistake. Leon, although looking shocked and scared, has already brought out the big guns: crucifix and a bible.

**Leon, waving the huge wooden cross in the air wildly:** Stay back, demon!

He can‘t help it, the demon starts hissing at them, the sound coming all the way from his belly. He looks slightly alarmed, but still way too relaxed. Purely instinct, nothing else.

**Demon, still hissing:** I don‘t like Jehovah‘s witnesses on my property. [He carefully places his wine bottle on a shelf without looking, his yellow eyes glinting dangerously.] It makes my plants nervous.

What happens next is also instinct: Mike puts his hand out and fires, hitting the demon right on the chest, just underneath his nipple. The demon starts screeching, opening his eyes wide in a comical _‚Oh shit‘_ sort of way, before convulsing and seizing up violently. The whole thing takes way longer than it should have, but what can he say? Mike is feeling a little freaked out over the whole hissing thing. And the whole glowing eyes thing. Overall, he‘s not at his best, mental health wise.

After the ordeal is over, the demon drops like a stone, unconscious.

**Alex, shaking slightly:** Oh shit. Oh fuck. Shitty fuck fuck, did we just really _do_ that? Holy fuck.

**Mike, looking at the crumpled body in disbelief and laughing:** We sure did, huh. [He looks to the taser gun in his hand.] My dad rules, man.

Leon laughs along, though only slightly, before he stares intently into the camera and starts smirking.

**Leon, deadpan:** See, that‘s what you get when you mess with... God‘s agents. [He winks.]

 

The scene cuts off abruptly, revealing only a white **TEXT** on a black screen, reading:

 

 

>                                                THE END.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, this is the end of the "movie" part of the story, though I'm still sorta planning an epilogue chapter so look out for that. Hence why I still left the fanfic marked as unfinished. Peace out.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little after the Not-Apocalypse, Crowley stumbles upon a casette tape of Aziraphale's thinking it's his hidden pornography Gabriel wanted. It turns out to be something much, much different.  
> Also, if CinemaSins were to review this movie, the youtube video would be ten hours long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't think Crowley and Aziraphale aren't THE single most annoying, PDA enthusiast, touchy couple in the history of the earth after 6,000 years of pining then think again. This is the most tooth rotting fluff I've written in... well, since ever. I just let everyone else suffer, most times. But I figured the poor bastards deserved a break. And some popcorn.  
> As always, PSA: I'm german and my dumb german laptop won't stop changing the "" to the cursive, fancy fuckers you see here. I'm too lazy to change it. Sue me.

„That‘s a tad bit dramatic, don‘t you think,“ Crowley muttered to no one in particular as he lounged comfortably on an old, worn down sofa from the 19th century, legs spread and each feet resting on one of Goethe‘s first editions. 6,000 years, and Aziraphale had _finally_ allowed him to desecrate one of his most holy books. But only the ones he didn‘t particularly care about, like Faust. Crowley had always thought Goethe was a creepy old fellow, what with his obsession with younger tweens, and Aziraphale had begrudgingly agreed. Small victories.

The cassette tape stopped playing with a loud CLICK as it rewound its film. The whole home theater idea hadn‘t been his initial plan for the day, but when he went around slithering his way through his angel‘s book shelves in his true form, as he often did, the tape had just... well. Spoken to him. Or the title had.

Because while Anthony J. Crowley had blocked out that particular bad hangover, just like he‘d done with most of the early 2000‘s (the fashion was just..... horrendous), Aziraphale apparently hadn‘t. He‘d found it, Satan knows where, and kept it. It was oddly touching.

„Why in the hell would you keep this?“ He asked, louder this time, while craning his neck and looking for the particular angel. He‘d heard him come in. He always did.

Aziraphale didn‘t even verbally reply, just stuck his head inside the door to look at the offending _this_ he was talking about. It took him a little while, but after seeing the title, his ears started turning slightly reddish. He looked nervous.

„Did you watch the whole thing?“ He asked instead, dodging the question.

Crowley licked his lips, stretching out his hand and flexing his fingers in a sort of ‚come hither‘ motion. „Maybe,“ he grinned, long and wide, at the embarrassed angel in front of him, „I didn‘t have anything on for the rest of the afternoon. Downton Abbey‘s not until 8.“ He didn‘t watch that anymore, not after Dan Stevens had decided to pierce his heart and fuck off to pursue American roles. He had no idea why anyone wouldn‘t feel so lucky as to continuously play the same storylines about money troubles and romance over and over again.

Aziraphale‘s holy fingers found Crowley‘s crooked ones and took hold. Explicit, out right hand holding like this had been a new development after the Not-Apocalypse, and every time it happened Crowley felt like sending Adam a thank you fruit basket. „We never did talk about that dreadful evening, did we?“ They really hadn‘t. But then again, the Arrangement also included a specific paragraph about denying any embarrassing, shameful encounters over the centuries, so. Crowley couldn‘t tell you what the 14th century had been about if you put a gun to his head. Or a taser gun.

„No,“ Aziraphale nodded, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting, „No we didn‘t. I thought perhaps...“

Crowley looked at him reassuringly. He wasn‘t the only non communicative bastard. But he also wasn‘t cruel, so he took the hand holding his and kissed it gingerly. Just because he felt like it. „You have to know... You must know that wasn‘t me, right? In the church.“ And just because he felt it needed saying, he added: „I wouldn‘t do that.“

Aziraphale looked up at him sharply, accusingly. „Wouldn‘t you?“

Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it. Truth of the matter was, he couldn‘t exactly reply  _no_ , could he? Not like he hadn‘t thought about it, over the years. The easy way out. Rerouting the system, wiping it clean. One quick dive head first into holy water. So instead, he went for something that he could for sure predict: „I promise, if it ever comes to that, I‘ll calculate your lateness in.“

Aziraphale didn‘t seem assured. „Well, if you ever...“ _Are being tortured by either heaven or hell, or lord forbid teenagers,_ „are at your wits end. Please, just...“ He looked at him intensely. „Wait for me.“

Crowley didn‘t know what to say. This wasn‘t just ‚You go too fast for me‘, or a dinner at the Ritz. This was someone in the universe, an angel no less, openly proclaiming that he cared whether he lived or died. That he would prefer very much if he stayed, right where he was, and that he wouldn‘t be alone even then. The sticky, dangerous feeling arising inside Crowley‘s belly felt a lot like being sick, or something else. He swallowed thickly.

„What was your hallucination about?“ Aziraphale asked, all innocent, as if he couldn‘t fucking imagine. Crowley could. Sometimes it still haunted his dreams. He couldn‘t very well tell him that, though.

„Oh, you know,“ he said, lying through his teeth, „You. In that god awful 14th century garment.“ He shuddered to emphasize the point. „Sight for sore eyes, that.“

Aziraphale smiled at him, though he still looked sad and unconvinced. Everything in him was yelling at him to lighten up the fucking mood, so Crowley said: „What ever _did_ happen to those kiddos? How are we supposed to believe, as audience members, that this footage just miraculously found its way into the Windows Movie Maker program?“ He grinned. „I don‘t remember the depressing music and the trivia texts being there when it happened.“

Aziraphale smiled at him, proud, as he sat down next to the demon lounging on his couch. „I revived them. Miracled them away somewhere, to a place called... Texas?“

Crowley looked at him in disbelief. „You revived them. _All_ of them?“ Code for: _even the boring, homophobic corpse on the sidewalk?_

Aziraphale shrugged, as if he couldn‘t help it. „It felt like such a waste to see such a young human life end so abruptly, so I...“ Crowley rolled his eyes. Angels and their damn appreciation for life, even the stupid ones. „I don‘t remember shipping their camera equipment with them, though.“

„Slimy bastards. Probably thought they could make a few bucks.“ He whistled. „Should send them an angry letter.“

„Oh, don‘t bother, Hollywood already saw to that.“ Aziraphale laughed. „I caught wind of it after they‘d sent in the footage, and promptly gotten rebuffed as well as blocked indefinitively, by 3 separate film agencies. My favorite was the one director who‘d called it, uhh... ‚unoriginal, poorly made CGI sprinkled in with a few witty one liners‘.“ He pouted at Crowley. „They called your pupils _fake_ , dear.“

Crowley gasped, actually shocked. No, outright _offended._ And hurt. How _dare_ those rich schmucks call _him_ , one of God‘s abominations, _fake?!_ „How- Wha- They‘re _not_!“ He protested, growing louder with every word.

Aziraphale softly patted him on the shoulder. „Of course they‘re not, my dear. They‘re very menacing looking. Very... serpentine.“ Crowley still wasn‘t convinced, even when Aziraphale kissed his temple to remind him of his frightfulness. That comment had hurt more than the holy water.

There‘s something else that needed to be said, though, even as Crowley the big, scary demon was being smothered in angelic affection. „I can‘t believe,“ he said, stopping himself to move his head oh so slightly for Aziraphale‘s lips to touch his right on his left corner. For a second he forgot what the hell he wanted to say in the first place. Physical affection was so very new, and so very exciting. Sinful. He truly understood why humans craved this so much. If Crowley were a cat, he‘d be purring right about now.

Still, this needed saying, so he carefully wrestled himself free and out of his angel‘s hungry hands. But just a little. Because Anthony J. Crowley was selfish, especially when it came to his angel. „You, You know, I still can‘t believe,“ he tried catching his breath, holding up his finger in a non verbal communication for Aziraphale to wait _just_ a moment before grabbing for him again. „I still can‘t believe you knew. You _knew_ this entire time, and you let me play the fool for _years!“_ He sounded vaguely offended. „The bloody haunted house knew before I did.“

Aziraphale winced and looked at him apologetically. Crowley wasn‘t _really_ that mad. But he liked seeing the angel on his knees. „Well, I ...“ He was visibly struggling for words. Crowley would be damned if he helped him in any way. „You see, I ... Tea?“

Crowley groaned, but let him go to fetch them some refreshments. Of course. Avoiding the question. Typical for celestials. „You know,“ he yelled after him, sitting cross legged on the couch, „I ought to ask it, some time. The house, I mean. It‘s still there.“

Aziraphale made a noise of surprise he could hear all the way from the kitchen. Oh. Crowley had forgotten to tell him about that. Heh.

„Yes, so a certain gentleman might have... bought up the property of the entire thing, back in the early 2000‘s.“ He shrugged dramatically. „You know how those rich old folks get. One day they win the lottery and next thing you know, they suddenly own a torture chamber for their very best guests.“

So maybe he hadn‘t wanted a repeat performance of that particular evening any time soon, so what? Sue him. He‘d had the money back then, miracled right out of some richer guy‘s money laundering business, and what could he say. Crowley had been on the look out for his own personal torture chamber for a while. Maybe he also didn‘t want some poor unknowing exchange students stumbling in there again, looking for a dare or some frisky action, to be torn to shreds. He could do well without having _that_ on his consciousness. Mostly it was the idea of torture, though. Absolutely.

Crowley told him as much when Aziraphale entered the salon with a tray in hand, but it didn‘t matter. The damage had been done. The resounding „aww“ noise Az let out made Crowley cringe.

„You know, Anthony,“ he started, even when Crowley‘s face went _‚oh no‘._ „I‘ve always, always said that you were quite-“

„Don‘t you say it,“ he warned him, growling. They might not have sides anymore, they might be refugees from heaven _and_ hell, and they might be in a committed relationship. But Crowley would be damned if he let anyone call him ludicrous things in his presence.

„... parsimonious. You did always spot the best sales.“ Crowley glared at his angel‘s fond smiling. Okay, he would let that slide.

„‘s just for insurance,“ Crowley mumbled. He didn‘t like being talked to this way. Endearingly, that was. „In case Hastur tries any funny business.“

„Of course, dear,“ Aziraphale said, handing him his tea. The grumpy demon took it and gulped it in one go, bleeding throat and burned tongue be damned. „Very strategic. Like that hand holding.“

Crowley squinted his eyes. „Next time I‘m being kidnapped, I‘ll just call someone else,“ he muttered. Except, not really. Both of them knew it, probably even the haunted house, all the way on the outskirts of London knew. The teenage exorcists certainly knew. Whenever shit hit the fan, Crowley would always call Aziraphale, and Aziraphale would always come. Because there was simply no other conceivable way, the same way that Crowley practically scrambled whenever even one feather of those white wings got ruffled. He was whipped, as the kids said. Taking care of each other, saving each other‘s asses, was purely instinct. Quid pro quo. It‘s what made them work so well together, even after all this time. Like a well oiled machine.

When Crowley leaned over Aziraphale‘s body, placing his hands on either side of his belly, that was instinctual, too. So was Aziraphale tilting up his head as soon as Crowley‘s face got near his, slotting their lips together. The hand on his cheek, that was new, though. Crowley didn‘t really mind.

Instinct‘s a funny thing, that is.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually am right now planning another fanfiction, again Good Omens. Again, Crowley gets put through the blender. Also, there's ghosts? And wine? Comment down below if you want that. If not, also comment down below, but beware that I have swords and that I WILL find you (just kidding, I'm baby).  
> Not to toot my own horn, but I also wrote a femslash Good Omens story. Go check that out if you into some more gay shit


	8. EXTRA: the haunting of dolores pennyhurst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after the whole ordeal, Crowley decides to do a little haunting of his own and visit a certain someone and her petunias. As well as indulging in a little beheading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got the urge to write a little more in this universe, or just write in general but I was too lazy to start with my other fanfic, so here have 2,8k words of Crowley scaring an old bigoted grannie.

It had been a rather peculiar day. To begin with, her cats had made a fuss since just about when she first let the poor buggers in. Scratching and licking all over, trying to tear up the carpet and each other. It... unnerved her, those so often soft dopey eyes now huge and enormous. Karen from Accounting had even tried scratching her once. Now, Karen was generally a hellish fiend, hence its name, but they had reached a sort of peace treaty wherein Dolores would approach her if, and only if she had her special made cat food with her. The other ones would purr all over, as cats do, but not Karen. Karen had more of a reserved approach, which Dolores respected. She didn‘t need constant attention to love them dearly. She was, after all, a human and not a cat.

Where was she? Oh. The cat. Anyway, Karen had not only scratched her wrist when offered food, she‘d also purred while doing it. Karen had never once purred before. Dolores thought it might‘ve been her tinnitus, but then the bugger opened her mouth and let out the deepest purr meow she‘d ever heard. The whole encounter had shook her to her very core, leaving her to tend to her garden shell shocked.

Gardening normally always relaxed her but today it seemed to vex her further, constantly looking towards the house on the other side of the road. Needles making its ways down her back. As if someone, or something, was watching her.

It was all very queer.

That night, after her daily reading session, she decided to head to bed early. Just because she‘d felt like it. And because her back was killing her and her some of her kittens - sadly only 2, she usually preferred a purring entourage of at least 4, but it would have to do - had finally calmed down enough to desire cuddling her sorrows away.

Percival had just started cleaning the back of her arm, all loving and doting attention to detail, when something disturbed them. Like a pin hitting the floor, suddenly all their backs started rising up from the linen, tails standing at attention. Dolores couldn‘t very well look what was going on with her awkward position on her back, completely immobile. But she could hear feline commotion outside her door.

„Catsanova, that you?“ she yelled to the door. It was always him. The little troublemaker. Fire starter. „Quit your nagging and get over here!“

No reply. There was a soft breeze flying over to her side of the bed, comfortable at first but then far too chilly for her liking. The cats on her still hadn‘t moved an inch, rudely planting their paws in her stomach and legs. She annoyingly shushed them away and off the bed.

With no slippers, no socks, and no damned jacket on, she went staggering back into the living room. It became very clear early on what the whole fuss had been about: one of the stupid buggers had somehow managed to unlock on her windows again. The cats were screaming and yelling their hearts out over it, all positioned in front of it like a big, bad enemy.

„‘s wrong with you?“ she asked, with all the warmth of a middle aged lady being woken up from her sleep. „There‘s nothin‘ there!“ Dolores went over to the enemy and gestured vaguely outside. There was only her garden, and her garden couldn‘t hurt her any more than her kitchen could hurt her. She was safe here. Or so she thought.

Because at second glance, there _was_ something queer there. Besides the window being miraculously opened by cat spies, someone had knocked over one of her garden gnomes. Just the one. Normally they were all standing there, meticulously arranged to look like the friendliest version of themselves they could be. All five of them. Now.... one was missing. AWOL.

Dolores craned her neck outside, immediately being engulfed in a swirl of wet coldness that was UK weather, but couldn‘t find him. A particular stormy whirlwind might have carried him away, out of her reach, stranded the poor gnome on someone else‘s garden grounds. That would have to be Thursday Dolores‘ problem, because Wednesday evening Dolores couldn‘t be bothered. So long as it wasn‘t _that_ garden ground. She shuddered.

„Bloody weather,“ she muttered under her breath while trying to stick her head back inside as gracefully as possible. It wasn‘t as easy a task as she‘d thought. „Urgh.“

Dolores really should have brought her glasses along with her, because what greeted her in her own living room could _not_ be what she thought it was.

Her gnome. Her poor, little, well meaning gnome. Beheaded. On her book stand. And scribbled on the wall there a stick figure, giving her a friendly wave. The stick figure was long and gangly and, worse of all wore a pair of dark shades. It made her stomach queasy to look at that dark red liquid on her brightly coloured wallpaper for too long, not wanting to know what it was. Shades. A man.

Anthony.

She took one cat, the one nearest to her, not even caring who it was or whether it cared about being manhandled like this, and clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. „Oh, God.“

„Not quite. Gotta look the other way round,“ said a figure from the shadows, not there just a minute ago. Dolores feared her heart might give out, along with the ones of her cats. They were all in attack mode, growling and hissing like crazy at the shadows. The man‘s - or was it a man? - sunglasses started glinting in the moonlight. Dolores‘ knees were just about to give out.

„Heya, Dolores,“ the heathen said. When he stepped out of the shadows and onto her carpet, his hands started dripping dark red liquid on her wool. Dolores whimpered at the sound of that voice, at the same time that the cats started their feral meowing. The man just grinned in response. „Been a while. My most sincere apologies for not coming sooner, but I was a bit preoccupied. Had a few loose ends to tie up. You‘ll understand.“

„Demon,“ she hissed, moving towards the door. She didn‘t know what kind of games the homosexuals were playing at these days, what with the blood and breaking and entering, but she wasn‘t keen to find out.

An invisible grip tightened around her throat like a leash, pulling her back and making her stumble onto the carpet. It felt searing hot around her throat, like the shackles of hell. She shuddered at the thought. Dolores heard a „Ts“ noise behind her.

„Dolores, Dolores, Dolores,“ the man reprimanded - Anthony, she‘d remembered now. „You‘ve really upset me, you. Would even go as far as to say you‘ve hurt my _feelings_ , dearie.“ When she turned around to face him from her inferior position on the floor, he tilted his head at her in question. „What were you thinking with those gnomes? They‘re absolutely atrocious. Completely bludgeoning the good neighbourhood‘s reputation.“

„What are you?“ she spit out. Sure, she knew homosexuals were capable of a lot of things, she had cable after all, but not this. Not ... tricks such as this. She‘d thought the teenagers would send him to a priest to be reprimanded. It obviously didn‘t go as planned. Her blood ran cold at the thought of those poor, unsuspecting, innocent little children. Lambs to the slaughter. What good Christian she was.

„Neighbourhood watch,“ Anthony replied, grinning. He started wiping his blood drenched hands on her favourite leather recliner. That movement hurt her poor heart more than the previous gnome beheading had done.

A cat approached her attacker, tail up high and fuzzy. Percival, her strong boy. Her knight in shining armour. Anthony hissed back at the small furry creature. „I never tended to understand why you humans are such hoarder sorts. Especially when it comes to pets. Disgusting.“

Dolores Pennyhurst had seen and defeated a lot of evil, had won a lot of battles. Once, when her local church had suggested an intercultural meeting with other religions, she‘d done a sit in strike. She was sitting now, but she didn‘t much feel like she was winning. This evil was right in her home. Had tended to her _garden_.

„You know,“ the demon said, sitting down on the recliner with his limbs wide stretched, „you really ought to reread the bible some time if you‘ve got a minute. God really isn‘t as condemning as you think she is. Or, well... she _is_ , just doesn‘t give a rats arse about sexual orientation.“

Dolores had no idea what God this demon was talking about, but it wasn‘t hers. Hers was a white older man with long, flowery white beard and hair. Hers loved fiercely, and hated even more fiercely. She chose to gracefully ignore his comment, choosing instead to focus on more pressing matters.

„What did you do to those kids?“

„Oh, you mean those _exorcists_? Pfff, they‘re fine. They‘re...“ He made vague, dramatic hand gestures. „... lying in a ditch somewhere. Ehh.“ She gasped out loud at that remark, fully body shudder overtaking her. Anthony looked at her questioningly. „Oh, come on now, they weren‘t exactly the pious type. Bunch of hippies! Democrats!“ He gasped dramatically, wide eyed. „Wait, you didn‘t know, did you? That you sent in a couple of those sexual deviants you despise so much to defeat me? Ah, thought not.“

She gasped, clutching the cat in her arms further. „No.“

„ _Yes_. We had a grand old time, had ourselves a parade. Chatted about politics and what not. And now, well... I‘ll let you in on a little secret. God‘s most hidden one.“ He leaned in closer towards her, stretching his legs an obscene amount. The next thing he whispered: „God actually _only_ allows gay people to pass heaven‘s threshold. Strictly gays only, VIP and all. She just adores them. So, those three? Probably partying up with Mercury or one of the other. I wouldn‘t worry too much about _them_ , I‘d worry a little bit more about _you_ , girlie.“

The words shook her to her very core, not just the outrageous and most likely false picture of heaven he‘d painted for her, but also the threat of violence. Dolores didn‘t know how to fight someone with fists, she only had her vocal chords and her expressive vocabulary. And by God, she was going to use them.

„You‘re foul! Creature of the devil, preying on the weak! You should be ashamed of yourself, young man!“ That last sentence always worked with those young folks.

„Hey now,“ the creature said, seemingly wounded. „That‘s no way to talk to the gentleman who helped you with your garden work, don‘t you reckon? And look how nice it‘s gotten. Reminiscent of the garden of Eden. Heh.“

„A few acts of kindness won‘t change your nature, heathen.“

Anthony sighed. „I guess you‘re right. But then again, where do you think that leaves you?“ He looked around, towards the piles of furry creatures assembled around him, ready to strike. „And your little... house rats.“ He pointed a finger at one of them, shaped like a gun. Said cat - Benzo - started whimpering and cowering in fear at those damned fingers. She‘d never before seen Benzo tower at anyone‘s feet, much less a stranger.

Not for the first time, Dolores Pennyhurst felt knee buckling fear growing within her. The feeling started growing more and more oppressive when the man decided to stand up and make his way towards her position on the floor. She let go of the cat in her lap in favour of holding her hands up over her hand in surrender, survival instinct clearly winning over wit.

„Please...“

The man looked bored at her whimpering. „Please what?“

„Please don‘t... kill me.“ She didn‘t know what else to say. What else was there? _Don‘t hurt me_? That went without saying, she‘d thought. _Don‘t hurt my cats_? At this point, she would be fine with a few of her kittens being hurt if it meant her surviving this night.

The demon was fully standing in front of her now, and Dolores was too terrified to look up, in fear of what sight would greet her. Glowing eyes, fangs. A mouth filled with fire. More blood.

„What do you have to offer me, then? Make me an offer. What is the life of Dolores P. worth?“

The question caught her off guard. „What?“ she asked to the meticulously cleaned black shoes in front of her.

The demon hadn‘t even noticed her remark. „You know, you‘ve got a nice house. Homely. Spacious. Big room for just one spinster. And the _garden_ , pfff, that would just about put anyone to shame.“

She didn‘t understand. „Do you want to... move in with me?“ The thought of sharing a kitchen with someone seemed suddenly far more troubling than dying. „I, I don‘t think-“

He cut her off, not with words, but with that evil _force_ in the air again, tightening around her throat. It closed around neck like a vice, leaving hardly any air to breathe. And then, just as fast as the sensation had come, it retreated back to its master like a hell hound on a leash.

„Please, like I‘d want your dirty knickers mixing in with my shirts. Don‘t kid yourself. Your company‘s not that enticing, just not that into you.“ He contemplated a thought for a moment. She still did not dare to look up, her throat was still constricting painfully in panic. „How would you feel about a simple business transaction?“

„... I...“ She didn‘t know what to say.

„It‘s simple, Misses P. You formally hand over your nice, chic house over to little ol‘ _me,_ contract and everything. You have a week to move out and to rid this place of any and all fur, hairball or flower print. I want my new home looking _sharp_ , not like a grandma‘s den. Move out of the city, to the country side. Your debt to me will be paid then, and only then. If not, I‘ll find you. And promise me, you don‘t want that.“

Move out? Her? Out of the home she‘d been living in since she was 30? How... Unbelievable. Absolutely not. Inconceivable. No way. And yet what came out of her mouth after a moment was: „Alright.“

Her throat still hurt. Her babies still hadn‘t been fed today. And she just really didn‘t feel like dying on this particular night. Dolores always thought being suffocated by one of her fur balls in her sleep would be how she would go and this was so far removed from her fantasy.

„There‘s a good lass! Knew we could come to an agreement.“ The demon apparently clasped his hands together in excitement, creating a loud wet sound. She chanced looking up just as he‘d started going back towards the shadows. His grin made her stomach clench.

The cat closest to him started hissing again, though Dolores couldn‘t make out who. She was proud, either way. The demon put a hand inside his pocket and proceeded to toss some - what looked to be _seeds_? - on her carpet. „Tada,“ he exclaimed. Her cats went absolutely bonkers over those seeds, like she‘d never seen before. They were practically scrambling over each other to roll around in them.

„There ya go. All good now. Greedy creatures.“

Dolores looked to the cats, then to the demon, then to the cats again. Percival started mounting Catsanova to gain leverage. She had no idea what in the bloody hell was going on.

„I do hope I‘ll have that contract in my letter box by next week. Signed. Oh, and another thing!“ He started turning around from his way back to the shadows, as if there was an open door he could just disappear out of if he so pleased. Dolores didn‘t put it past the forces of evil. „I‘ll have a box of your finest pistachio biscuits along with that, if you‘ll be so kind. Your special home recipe, you know the one. I‘ve got, heh, an angel at home who‘s just about _dying_ to take a bite out of one of those.“ She just nodded along dumbly.

And just like that, Dolores Pennyhurst was alone in her dark home no more. Homeless, gnome less and friend less. With nothing but an extensive to do list and a bunch of cats currently tearing each other apart to get to those seeds.

She decided, right then and there, that she‘d just about _had it_ with the big city. Along with its demonic inhabitants. Should‘ve listened to her daughter in law. London was no longer what it used to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Demons got them good catnip ✌🏻  
> Also, THATs how Crowley gets all his favorite city apartments

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart for "The exorcism and accidental haunting of anthony j crowley"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751233) by [La_Rainette_verte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/La_Rainette_verte/pseuds/La_Rainette_verte)




End file.
